


here where you should be (underneath the tree)

by transit (dollyeo)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Crack, M/M, Minor Jeon Wonwoo/Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi, Minor Lee Jihoon | Woozi/Wen Jun Hui | Jun, Pining, Romantic Comedy, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-24 03:44:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17093408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollyeo/pseuds/transit
Summary: “The Christmas Eve project,” Jeonghan declares that night, “is a colossal failure.”“What’s the Christmas Eve project anyway?” Seokmin wonders, stepping in between Seungkwan and Jeonghan before Jeonghan can lunge at him. “Is it code for you finally asking Jisoo-hyung out?”“It’s code for Jeonghan-hyung’s plan to suck Jisoo-hyung’s dick,” says Seungkwan.*Secret Santa is a troublesome activity, but maybe it's a little more bearable when you're doing it for the one you love.





	here where you should be (underneath the tree)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soonuwus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soonuwus/gifts).



> happy holidays, @soonuwus! I, like you, am a sap and a sucker for romcoms-- while I can't guarantee quality (what is that? can I eat that?), I hope you enjoy my measly offering to you this season of giving ♥ enjoy!

It all starts in November at a general staff meeting in the conference room.

In retrospect, a lot of things about that statement should have set Jeonghan’s alarm bells off. While internal meetings are a common enough occurrence that Jeonghan can readily sleep with his eyes open through one and come out not even the least bit enlightened or informed as he would if he were awake, those meetings are typically fewer in number and involved more laptops than people. Then, there’s the conspicuous lack of a projector set-up in the middle of the table, and Jisoo looking far too perky for his own good at—Jeonghan checks his watch—nine-thirty in the morning without a cup of coffee in his veins. Jeonghan should know. He’s been doing Jisoo’s coffee runs for years now, and he’s just clocked in half an hour after the actual start of his work hours.

He watches Chan hand Jisoo a venti cappuccino, and then gets a long-suffering eyeroll from Seungcheol. Okay, so maybe he’s been making Chan get Jisoo’s coffee for him since the guy joined the team. It’s not his fault Chan’s easily bribed with free coffee and beverage stars. Jeonghan’s already surrendered a screenshot of his app’s barcode to Chan a long time ago to fund his future caffeine addiction. Making people happy is part of the job.

“You’re late,” Jihoon informs him as he takes a seat beside him in the back of the room, taking in his still-damp hair and messenger bag with a raised eyebrow.

“And _you_ look like you slept here,” says Jeonghan, reaching out to toy with a cowlick sticking up at the back of Jihoon’s head. Jihoon shrugs, not even the least bit concerned. It’s not too much of a stretch to assume he’s holed up in Jeonghan’s office and made himself comfortable on Jeonghan’s airbed for the night. Year-end projects and clients trying to use up their budget in Q4 is _hell_.

Looking around the room, Jeonghan makes himself comfortable in the leather seat and twirls around the swivel chair in boredom. And also maybe to make Seungcheol’s eyes roll harder at the back of his head and Jisoo to look at him with his eyes crinkled up and his palm stifling the incoming laugh Jeonghan _knows_ is coming. It’s a reaction he keeps trying to get out of him that’s gotten steadily more difficult over time, especially now that Jisoo’s training more juniors and trying to look like the model employee Jeonghan knows he’s anything but. Still, it wouldn’t do him any good to make his motives transparent, so he leans closer to Jihoon and asks, “What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” says Jihoon.

“ _Everything_ ,” Seungkwan corrects him, looking scandalized. “We were just going over what we were gonna do for the year-end party!”

“My point exactly,” Jihoon grunts.

“Isn’t it a bit too early to talk about this?” Minghao asks from somewhere near the door. He looks harried, like he’s got an urgent deadline coming up soon (read: before noon)— which, knowing his team, isn’t too far off the mark. Soonyoung calls it character building. Minghao calls it prolonged exposure to torture. Both of them, sadly, are not completely wrong about it. “Can I skip this one if I’m not even coming?”

“Just because I signed your leave form doesn’t mean you can get out of this,” says Soonyoung, blocking the only exit. Ah. So that’s why he isn’t up front and center or bothering other people. “Jisoo-hyung’s got a special announcement to make before that.”

“Fine, but I’m not gonna listen,” says Minghao, turning back to his laptop. The ensuing typing from his keyboard sounds even more ominous than the scowl on his face. “I’m gonna hand this over with typos and grammatical errors on 11:59:59.”

The threat doesn’t seem to faze Soonyoung, who just shrugs. “Not like your pride can help it,” he mutters, and Minghao gives him a well-chosen finger in response. “Who else are we waiting for?”

“Hansol’s on sick leave,” says Seokmin, dutifully. “And Mingyu’s offsetting today, so that’s two down.”

“Wonwoo’s wrapping up a call,” says Junhui, pretending to fiddle with his phone while idly trying to kick Jihoon’s chair and make it seem like it’s Seokmin’s fault. He gets a crumpled-up ball of paper thrown at him for his efforts. “He should be back in a few minutes.”

“I vote we ditch him,” says Soonyoung. “He can sit this one out.”

“And _I_ can’t?” Minghao protests.

“You have a deadline, Minghao,” says Soonyoung. “Focus.”

“A deadline that shouldn’t have happened to begin with if you hadn’t made a bet with Wonwoo,” Junhui supplies, rather unhelpfully.

Jeonghan can hear Minghao muttering something viciously about _unresolved sexual tension_ and _unfair treatment of juniors_ , but that’s yet another can of worms no one’s bothered to open just yet. The Bet is one that’s stemmed from an off-handed comment from Wonwoo during their midyear planning about his team progressing fairly well with their KPIs despite having better semblance of work-life balance than, well, Soonyoung’s team of workaholic, ambitious brats, and Soonyoung’s hyper competitiveness and misplaced pride had latched onto it like a leech, resulting into a competition of sorts. It’s the only reason Wonwoo (whose laziness tends to rival Jeonghan’s own) has been increasingly proactive despite his normally reticent nature—“If I get a bigger bonus than Soonyoung, I’m buying myself a Switch and bullying him into getting me extra controllers,” Wonwoo always gloats whenever he’s within earshot of Soonyoung, and it never fails to set Soonyoung off.

And, by extension, Soonyoung’s team— as if they needed a bigger incentive than letting their anal-retentive, internally anxious and perfectionist tendencies motivate them even more. They’re all a bunch of idiots like that.

Still, it’s doing wonders for reaching their targets, but Jeonghan’s not looking forward to planning season now that they’re actually achieving their goals. No doubt next year is gonna suck, and Jeonghan’s not looking forward to actually kicking Jihoon out of his airbed so _he_ can sleep on it in the future. He wants to go home before nine in the evening next year, thanks. Soonyoung and Wonwoo can go fuck themselves. Jeonghan’s only planning on fucking one thing, that’s for sure.

Speaking of which— Jeonghan catches Jisoo’s eyes glinting brightly, though, like he’s hatching up a scheme that Jeonghan would _definitely_ want to have first dibs on, but the timing is suspect and so far, Jisoo hasn’t even breathed a word about anything to Jeonghan. Which, Jeonghan realizes with a slow, sinking feeling, probably means he’s not gonna like it. _At all_.

 _what’s happening and how can I stop it_ , he texts Seungcheol as they wait for Wonwoo.

Seungcheol, the conniving, traitorous asshole, just sends him a winky face with a tongue sticking out, even as he looks perfectly serious and foreboding at the front of the room with Jisoo beside him. What a fucktard.

Wonwoo comes slinking into the room a few minutes later, ruffling Soonyoung’s hair up and getting tripped for his efforts, but he doesn’t look the least bit disgruntled at Soonyoung’s squawking protest. He takes the only other empty space beside Jeonghan at the back of the room and gives Seungcheol a thumbs up.

“ _Anyway_ , as we were discussing before Jeonghan decided to grace us with his presence—” Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “— we’ve decided to shake things up a bit and do a little activity leading up to the year-end party.” Seungcheol announces, looking far too chipper for Jeonghan’s comfort. “We know a lot of people are gonna be going home earlier this year, so that’s already a good quarter of us that aren’t gonna be in the office—”

“Thank fucking god,” Jihoon mutters under his breath.

“— and just so no one feels left out of the _awesome_ party we’re planning—”

“ _I_ ,” Seungkwan interrupts. “As in, singular.”

“Fine,” Seungcheol amends. “The half-baked party Seungkwan is planning on hosting—”

“Hey!”

“We’re gonna be doing a little something different this time,” Seungcheol finishes. He turns expectantly to Jisoo, who takes something out from his bag and brandishes, to Jeonghan’s increasing horror, what looks to be a box filled with crumpled papers.

That same box, Jeonghan realizes, is the same damn box they’ve been using to draw lots for unwanted projects, unasked for clients and pitches, and menial activities outside of their job description for “all other tasks that may be assigned to them from time to time”. Fuck that clause in their contract, Jeonghan thinks. He _hates_ that box.

From the look on Jihoon’s face, he doesn’t look the least bit excited by it, either. At least he’s not the only one. Out of their entire five-man team, they’re the most notorious cheapskates outside of reimbursing their allowances for food (Jihoon) and alcohol (Jeonghan), and any extraneous activity outside of party planning is surely going to make a dent on their wallets. (The idea of going all out for expensive _birthday_ gifts for their teammates _equally_ is still a thing Jisoo’s been trying to get both of them to acclimate to for a while now.) And if it’s Jisoo who’s doing the honors— then that means—

 _Please_ , he tries to mentally communicate to Jisoo via the sheer force of his puppy eyes. _Please, for the love of god, let it be anything. Let it be a new pitch. Let it be a party committee. Just please, please_ , please _don’t let it be a—_

“I’m pleased to announce that this year, we’ll _finally_ be doing a Secret Santa exchange,” says Jisoo, crushing all of Jeonghan’s hopes and dreams. Jeonghan can feel the dread in his stomach solidifying into a mass of nerves, pulled taut and tangling with his insides, and it’s not just the familiar fluttering he gets when Jisoo beams at all of them, achingly lovely despite the evil in his heart. “And just so you assholes don’t try to cheat your way out of this, we’re putting a minimum price _and_ checking the receipts, Yoon Jeonghan.”

“No,” Jeonghan interrupts, raising a hand in protest. “We’re not.”

“Not cheating?”

“Not doing Secret Santa, _ever_ ,” Jeonghan insists.

“Yes, we are,” says Jisoo, patiently handing the box to Chan after he fishes a piece of paper out. “Now everyone, line up and pick a name out of the box.”

“I’m Korean and far from being Christian,” says Jeonghan, muted by the noise of chairs scraping against the floor and the traitors in his department lining up in front of Chan. “This is against company policy!”

“ _I’m_ company policy*,” Jisoo points out, which isn’t too far off the mark. Jeonghan _hates_ it when Jisoo uses the nepotism card, even if it’s always half-joking. As much as they laugh it off, the niggling feeling of _what if_ that comes with being the only son of a high-ranking executive from the global team never completely goes away.

Before Jeonghan can stage a mutiny, Jisoo stalks over to him and drags him out of the room, gripping his arm. Any other day Jeonghan would be suppressing fantasies of being bodily manhandled and indulging in (illegal, _irresponsible_ ) office sex with the guy who’s been the main star of his wet dreams for three years running, but right now Jeonghan is too fixated on the absurdity of having his wallet drained for some ungrateful bastard (okay, so maybe calling them ingrates is a stretch. Jeonghan is _trying to make a point_.) when he could focus all his money and efforts into the Christmas Eve project he’s been hatching since last year.

He catches a glimpse of Seungcheol dragging Soonyoung away and to the back of the line by his collar, lining him up right behind Wonwoo to “let the kids go first, jeeze, can’t you just be patient for once?” Soonyoung looks not at all pleased at being ejected to the last spot, and Wonwoo smirks at him and waggles his fingers mockingly, clearly intent on baiting him. How Jisoo thinks this is a great idea is anyone’s guess but Jeonghan’s.

“You are _not_ going to sabotage this for me,” says Jisoo, tone sticky-sweet in a way that suggests he’s planning on eviscerating Jeonghan in his head if he does otherwise. “I’ve rigged the lottery with Chan and Seungcheol to make damn sure this all goes well.”

“Why would you even _do_ that?”

“For camaraderie and yuletide cheer,” says Jisoo, like he’s reciting something he’s hashed out in his head in advance. “And also maybe to keep everyone appeased enough with the prospects of gifts every week so they wouldn’t go crazy from all the deadlines and projects.”

“You know what a great incentive is? A performance-based bonus, that’s what, not some half-baked scheme to get people to fake being nice to each other—”

“Okay, genius, you’ve got me,” says Jisoo, looking a bit annoyed. “I’m only doing this because Chan asked, okay?”

“ _Chan_?” Jeonghan repeats in disbelief.

“Yes, idiot, Chan did,” says Jisoo, rolling his eyes. “Their team’s gotten pretty stretched thin over the past few weeks, and Soonyoung’s little _competition_ with Wonwoo is bleeding into _their_ weekends now. Did you know Chan stayed up all night last Friday? Seokmin and Seungkwan went back to wait up for him, and they went home at seven in the morning before Jihoon could wake up and catch them in the office.”

“Yeah,” says Jeonghan, feeling only the slightest bit of guilt. He’d been the one to hand Chan the keys to close up last Friday, dragging his ass out of the office to meet Jisoo for a quick dinner and movie when Jisoo messaged him about feeling suffocated in the office. Maybe he shouldn’t have let that one stay in too long. Jihoon was already a lost cause, his workaholic tendencies already ingrained in him before Jeonghan could train him out of the lack of work-life balance, and while he tried not to baby the juniors too much, it wasn’t hard for him to when things started getting crazy. He should have stayed and nagged them to go home instead of staying stock-still in the theater with Jisoo all but drooling on his shoulder, exhausted and completely bored out of his mind from the movie. He really should have.

Jisoo takes his sudden silence as agreement and purses his lips into a thin line. “I’ve been trying to talk to them about it, but Soonyoung’s pretty stubborn when he wants to be, and Wonwoo’s— well, I think he’s enjoying all the attention more than what’s probably healthy for both of them,” says Jisoo. “I figured that if they start having a reason to be friendlier, then maybe this would be an easy way to get them off of each other’s backs.”

“Being friendly isn’t the problem,” says Jeonghan. “You _do_ realize Wonwoo’s only pulling Soonyoung’s pigtails because he’s an emotionally constipated idiot, right?”

“Well, Soonyoung doesn’t know _that_ and talking to him is like trying to get a brick wall to listen,” says Jisoo, sighing. He puts his arm around Jeonghan’s, sinking into his side easily as he guides him back to the conference room. “Just play along with this for a few weeks, and then we can stop watching them bait each other like the dumbasses they are if this manages to make them get over their little rivalry.”

“Sounds like a terrible idea,” says Jeonghan.

“ _Please_ ,” Jisoo scoffs. “When have I ever had terrible ideas?”

 _Too many_ , Jeonghan thinks, distracted by the curl of Jisoo’s lip, pink and plump and asking to be kissed. He sidles closer instead, enough that he can feel the scratchy texture of Jisoo’s sweater against his skin as he digs his chin into the juncture of Jisoo’s neck and shoulder. If he breathes in, he can almost scent the trace of coffee on Jisoo.

“Fine,” he says, voice rough and sulky as they enter the room and Chan waves the box into Jeonghan’s face excitedly. “But I’m buying _everything_ from Daiso.”

“The minimum value’s 10,000 won, Jeonghan,” says Jisoo. “At least get them a stack of face masks or something.”

He ends up picking Jisoo’s name out of the box, ignoring Chan’s knowing smirk. Maybe it isn’t just Soonyoung and Wonwoo this conniving little asshole is targeting. No wonder he’s Jeonghan’s favorite.

“Have fun shopping, hyung,” Chan sing-songs. Then, lowering his voice, he adds, “I don’t think Daiso carries any perverted stuff, but you never know, right?”

“I hope you get Minghao and he drains your wallet dry with all of his demands,” says Jeonghan, through gritted teeth.

Chan just laughs at him, and Jisoo gives them both a curious look. Whatever, he thinks. Looks like the Christmas Eve project isn’t gonna be a wasted effort after all.

*

The Christmas Eve project, if Jeonghan has to explain it on pain of death, is this:

It’s a tiny, niggling thought that’s only taken its roots in Jeonghan’s head last December. Girlfriend and boyfriend-less, he’d been meaning to go back to his parents’ house for the holiday and maybe dote on (read: terrorize) his sister after she’d begged him to _not_ come home just when she was planning on bringing her boyfriend to meet their parents. “How can I _not_ go home after that?” He rationalized over lunch with Seungcheol and Jisoo. “If she really didn’t want me to go home, she shouldn’t have told me she had a boyfriend to begin with.”

“Your overprotective tendencies are the reason everyone thinks you’re insane,” said Jisoo.

“You’re an only child,” Jeonghan argued. “You wouldn’t know.” He turned around to look at Mingyu and Hansol, who were waiting for their packed lunches to heat up in the microwave. “Hey, if your sisters didn’t want you to meet their boyfriends, would you listen to them?”

“Of course not,” said Hansol, fervently.

“I wouldn’t wanna see her anyway, either,” said Mingyu.

Jeonghan turned back to Jisoo with an expectant look on his face, but Jisoo looked far from being convinced. He toyed with the leftover chicken bones on his plate, mouth pursed into a familiar pout that Jeonghan, not for the first time, wanted to peck at and kiss away. “Must be nice, going home for the holiday,” Jisoo sighed.

Jeonghan felt his throat lock up, words failing him at the downturn of Jisoo’s mood. He couldn’t say anything, though; already, he’d regretted even talking about it.

“You’re not gonna go visit your parents, hyung?” Hansol asked, braver than Jeonghan.

“Nah,” said Jisoo, with a rueful smile. “I couldn’t book plane tickets within my budget, and dad couldn’t spare enough leaves this year for a longer vacation. It’d just be a waste of money for them to stay a couple of nights.”

“That sucks,” said Seungcheol. Then, with a conspiratorial grin, he elbowed Jisoo’s side. “Maybe if you hook up with someone, you wouldn’t have to spend it alone.”

“ _No_ ,” Jeonghan said, louder than he’d intended. The pantry fell into a hushed silence, Jisoo looking confused at his vehement refusal. Jeonghan cleared his throat, then said, a little quietly, “I can stay with you. We can just stay in and watch terrible Christmas movies together. Can’t have you getting drunk and posting everything on Facebook, right, Mr. Model Employee?”

“That was _one time_ ,” Jisoo said, exasperatedly. “I can take care of myself, Jeonghan.”

“Well, I wanna take care of you, _Joshuji_ ,” said Jeonghan, keeping his tone light and playful, if only to dampen the honesty in his words.

Jisoo rolled his eyes, but gave him a smile nonetheless, one part fondness, the other part exasperation. “You’re a great friend, Jeonghan.”

“Right,” Seungcheol snorted, getting kicked under the table for his pains. “ _Friend_."

And that was how Jeonghan ended up in Jisoo’s apartment watching a dubbed version of Love Actually on an air mattress spread out on Jisoo’s floor. They ate freshly-delivered bulgogi and sweet potato noodles with copious amounts of alcohol, cooking up ways of scaring away his sister’s boyfriend _next time_ , and Jeonghan wanted, very badly, to tell him that it didn’t matter if her boyfriend was there or not, not when all he wanted was to take Jisoo home with him too. But even that was only greed speaking, and the reminder of it made Jeonghan silent enough that Jisoo thought he’d fallen asleep with his eyes closed and quietly dimmed the lights and switched off the TV to give him peace.

Sometime between ten in the evening and midnight, he’d fallen asleep on the sofa, and when he woke up Jisoo’s comforter was draped over his frame. In the distance, he could hear Jisoo talking to his parents in the kitchen. “It’s really cold here, but it’s stopped snowing at least—” Then, whatever things he’d said in English, Jeonghan couldn’t quite catch. He strained his ears and tried to make out what little he could from the one-sided conversation. “Yeah, I’m fine, Jeonghan’s here with me. He’s—” Then, more incomprehensible words, something that he could have sworn meant _amazing_ but probably meant _lazy, terrible slob_ instead. Whatever it was, though, Jeonghan didn’t mind— any insecurity he had about himself, he’d surrendered for the familiar sound of Jisoo’s laughter.

There was a pause, the only sound coming from Jisoo shuffling back towards the living room. Hastily, Jeonghan shut his eyes and pretended to sleep. He’d always been, in truth, a bit of a coward like that, really, even as his entire senses were hyper sensitive to Jisoo’s presence.

He could feel Jisoo’s hand reach out to fix the comforter around him and then ruffle his hair. Jeonghan wanted to reach out and catch his wrist, turn it over until he could press a lingering kiss to his palm, then hold onto him tightly like he couldn’t bear to let him go. But he didn’t; Jisoo pulled away, retreating to the sofa.

“I wish you were here with me too, mom,” Jisoo said, after a beat. He sounded not unlike how Jeonghan had known him years ago, homesick and struggling to fit in at work— how many years later and it was still there, and Jeonghan could do nothing but pretend he didn’t hear how wet Jisoo’s voice sounded, choked up and bereft of laughter or cheer, this time. “It’s just not the same without you.”

He didn’t cry that night, but Jeonghan wondered if maybe he would have if he’d been alone. And as much as Jeonghan wanted him all to himself, he knew: he wanted to make Jisoo happy more than he wanted to keep him.

*

“Roundtrip plane tickets from LA to Seoul under four million won on short notice?” Seungkwan parrots back to him the next day. “For _Christmas_ until _New Year_? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Come on, Seungkwannie,” says Jeonghan, wheedling by now. Let it not be said that Jeonghan is _not_ a persuasive man when he wants to be. “I need you to work your magic and help me find them. There’s gotta be a few seats left!”

Seungkwan looks conflicted between bashing his head against his screen and succumbing to his people-pleasing tendencies. Poor kid. “I’m an executive assistant, not a miracle worker,” says Seungkwan. “And anyway, shouldn’t you be asking Jisoo-hyung for help for this? He’s the one who lives the—” Seungkwan shuts his mouth, then looks at Jeonghan knowingly. “Oh, I get it now.”

“What is it?” Junhui chimes in, Jeonghan’s other victim from his roster of frequent flyers after Minghao had begged off deadlines, illness and possible death (Soonyoung’s, not his) in the impending future. “What does that mean?”

“He got Jisoo-hyung for the Secret Santa,” says Seungkwan, looking at him with pitying eyes. “And now he wants to score brownie points with his parents by funding their airfare. Just how badly do you wanna suck his dick, hyung?”

“Ah, I see,” says Junhui, drily, as if _that_ explains everything, never mind that Jeonghan is too busy spluttering and trying to preserve the sanctity of his erection— er. His _affection_ for Jisoo. “What happened to the ten thousand won rule?”

“It’s a floor price, not a ceiling,” Jeonghan defends himself.

“Hmm.” Junhui opens one of his bookmarks on another tab, then shows his screen to them. “Do you think I can get this for Jihoon and have it shipped before the party?”

“I wish I could unsee the mental image,” says Seungkwan, flatly. Jeonghan can understand— he never wants to see the words _virgin killer sweater_ and a scantily clad Japanese model in the same train of thought as _Lee Jihoon_ , Junhui’s questionable tastes and lack of self-preservation instincts aside. This is why Junhui’s laptop keeps getting fried and filled with viruses, much to the IT department’s despair.

“It’s a very comfortable-looking sweater,” says Junhui. He clicks on another item, then gives Jeonghan a coy look. “Maybe you can get this for Jisoo-hyung? I’ll even let you ride onto my shipping fee, free of charge.”

Jeonghan can feel his mouth dry up at a skimpy lingerie set with soft cat ears, a choker with a bell, and a pair of thigh highs to match. “No thanks,” he wheezes. “I’d rather have my balls intact.”

“Too bad,” says Junhui. “Maybe I can suggest this to Wonwoo instead.”

“ _Ew_ ,” Seungkwan groans, wrinkling his nose. “Everyone _knows_ who _he_ got, hyung. Please don’t encourage him.”

“Wonwoo could give him something raunchy and he’d still think Wonwoo’s just making fun of him,” says Jeonghan.

“Sounds a bit close to home, doesn’t it?” Junhui says, eyebrows raised.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” says Jeonghan. “When have I ever been terrible to Jisoo?”

“Every day of your life,” says Jihoon as he passes them by. He glances at Junhui’s screen, then does a double take. “What the hell?”

“Perfect,” says Junhui, cheerfully. “Just the person I needed. What size do you wear, Jihoonie? And what color do you prefer? I was looking at the medium sizes in gray, but then I figured you might look better in something bigger and maybe I could wear it too someday—”

“This is sexual harassment,” says Jihoon, stalking away as Seungkwan shields his ears and looks vaguely traumatized— but not before flicking Junhui on the nose, the fond twitch of his lips belying the thinly-veiled threat in his words.

“What? Can’t I get my cute boyfriend nice things?” Junhui asks, looking vaguely hurt. Jeonghan knows better, though— they all do.

“This Secret Santa is supposed to be anonymous and also enjoyable for the recipient, not you,” Jeonghan reminds him.

“Who says this is for Secret Santa?”

Seungkwan gags. “ _Gross_.”

“Trust me,” says Junhui, eyes glazing over, “if everything goes well, he’ll be just as happy as I am, and you’ll all be worshipping me for it for the rest of the month.”

“I don’t need to know more about my boss’ sex life, thanks,” says Seungkwan, grimacing. “I’m perfectly happy playing errand boy in Jeonghan-hyung’s hopeless romance.”

“Hey!”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that. If Jeonghan-hyung plays his cards right, you never know,” Junhui jokes.

“I _wish_ ,” says Jeonghan, eyes glazing over.

“It’s always the quiet ones,” says Junhui, nodding sagely.

“You two are disgusting and I hope your Christmases turn out _terrible_ ,” Seungkwan despairs. “People in love are the _worst_.”

*

“Do you think something’s up with Seungkwan?” Jisoo asks him, voice nearly muted by the noise in the coffee shop. “He hasn’t been answering my messages.”

Jeonghan takes the noise as an excuse to lean closer, straining his ears. They’re lining up at the Hollys Coffee right across their client’s office, and they’ve got at least a few minutes to spare before Seungcheol picks them up after getting his car from the parking space a couple of blocks away. While Jeonghan would love nothing more than to desert Seungcheol in favor of surreptitiously inviting Jisoo out for dinner instead of getting back to the office after work hours, he still needs to double check if Seungkwan’s managed to work his magic and actually deliver on his request.

Based on the read receipts and unanswered messages on KKT, Jeonghan’s not too optimistic about that. The thought of it makes Jeonghan’s eyebrows furrow, and he gives the pastry display a cursory glance before shrugging at Jisoo’s raised eyebrow. “Dunno,” Jeonghan lies. “Maybe he’s busy with something Jihoon needs.”

“That’s too bad,” says Jisoo, giving him a small smile. “I was gonna ask him to leave a hot cup of peppermint mocha for my giftee, just in case the coffee gets cold by the time we get back.”

“What about me?” Jeonghan complains. “I need coffee too.”

“You can get your own coffee,” says Jisoo, pushing him forward as the person in front of them finishes up ordering. “Get me a mint chocolate. Oh, and a sweet potato latte for Seungcheol.”

“Seungcheol hates lattes.”

“It’s fine,” says Jisoo, looking as harmless and innocent as the cheese fondue baguette bowl in front of a lactose- and gluten-intolerant person. “I’ll tell him it was your idea.”

“Remind me why I hang around you again,” says Jeonghan.

“Because you love me,” Jisoo simpers, tone purposely saccharine, and Jeonghan swallows the lump in his throat and channels the sinking of his stomach into plastering a smile on his face for the cashier in front of him, all while retrieving his wallet for Jisoo’s milking.

Sometimes Jisoo’s needlessly cruel even when he doesn’t know he is, but all Jeonghan can do is shrug and pretend it doesn’t mean anything. That same ache, cresting and waning in his chest— he’d rather have it than none at all. Jisoo’s soft smile, his eyes bright in the too-bright lighting of the coffee shop— they all make Jeonghan’s stomach churn, flush with want and longing, and yet his hands can do nothing more than stay heavy at his side, fidgeting with his coat pockets. He watches Jisoo cup his drink and inhale the scent, eyes shut and expression smoothening more pliant, more relaxed. Something for Jeonghan to keep in his mind, playing on and on, when he tries to imagine what waking up to Jisoo would look like every day.

“You okay?” Seungcheol asks him when they join him later on, Jisoo holed up in the backseat with his attention directed on his Outlook app and Jeonghan buckling himself into the front seat. “You look like you’ve had too much sugary drinks before lunch. Should I be concerned?”

“Impossible,” says Jeonghan, gruffly. “You can never have too much coffee.”

“Agreed,” Jisoo pipes up, not even looking up from his phone.

“Whatever,” says Seungcheol, eyeing him warily. “Didn’t you guys get anything for me?”

“We were waiting too long for you so I drank it,” says Jisoo. “ _Outside. In this freezing cold—_ ”

“Thanks for nothing, bastards.”

Jeonghan elbows him, then deposits the other drink he’d hidden at his side into the cupholder between them. “Jisoo’s joking. Here’s your drink.”

Seungcheol reaches out to take a sip, then makes a face. “Is this a latte?”

“Yes,” Jisoo chirps. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Eugh. Couldn’t you have gotten me something black instead?”

“I could have sworn you said you loved experimenting just the other day,” says Jisoo, blinking owlishly at him.

“You’re not fooling me,” says Seungcheol. “This has you written all over it.”

“It could have been Jeonghan!”

“Jeonghan’s a cheapskate. He wouldn’t have paid for my drink without me paying him upfront with extra.”

“That’s true,” Jeonghan concedes.

Defeated, Jisoo lets out an exaggerated sigh and kicks at the back of Seungcheol’s seat. “If you don’t want it, then let me have it instead.”

“Pretty sure that was your plan all along,” says Seungcheol. “How come you never play these tricks on Jeonghan instead?”

“Because Jeonghan’s scary when he’s mad,” says Jisoo.

“Name _one_ time I was mad at you,” Jeonghan contests, and it soon devolves into an argument that has Seungcheol rolling his eyes and turning the radio up to drown them out.

“If you two don’t stop with your little lovers’ spat, I’m kicking you both out of my car,” Seungcheol warns.

“Not a lover’s spat if we’re not lovers,” Jisoo corrects him.

It’s enough to quiet Jeonghan down, though, and he retreats into a stilted, uneasy silence as he pretends to be busy with his phone. In a way, maybe Seungkwan’s right— being in love really sucks, especially when you’re the only one.

*

If he has to think about the first time he’d realized he was well and truly fucked, it was probably in their second year at the job.

It’s not like he’d been planning on falling in love with Jisoo. The epiphany was, in and of itself, something that came to him in a vortex of self-loathing at four in the morning running on coffee fumes, energy drinks and little sleep as they powered through a deck. It had been so late that even _Jihoon_ had gone home already, dragging his ass out of the front door and laughing hysterically at the miracle of him not being the last one to lock the doors. Maybe if they hadn’t procrastinated and if their general manager at that time hadn’t _hated_ Jeonghan’s first draft, Jeonghan would have been safely ignorant and asleep at that time instead of Jihoon. Maybe he would have never realized it either. But there was something about late nights and desperation that made sorting the forests from the trees a little difficult, clarity coming in sharp focus amidst the blurry edges of his sleep-deprived vision.

When Jisoo had fallen asleep on their summary slide with his keyboard pillowing his cheek and his drool congealing at the base of his stack of print-outs, Jeonghan’s traitorous brain had let out the niggling thought of _cute_ and refused to flush out the idea for the rest of his damn twenties and beyond. 

It’s strange— he’d always thought of Jisoo as cute, in the abstract sense that he thought kittens and puppies were cute, or that his little sister was even cuter, or that his juniors were equally adorable, especially when he wanted to strangle them the most. Objectively speaking, Jisoo was always a bit of a looker, something like a young master that had his life sorted out and planned for him. It was fine to get a crush on him. The girls from accounting did. _Minghao_ , to this day, swears up and down that Jisoo is his ideal type. But Jisoo’s far from Jeonghan’s type— Jisoo, who looked capable on paper and in terms of appearance but was actually a bit of a clumsy idiot. Reticent and passive until he’d grown comfortable enough to toss back a couple of shots and whine all while showing enough affection and _aegyo_ to make even Jeonghan cringe. A bit of a skilled liar without planning enough fail safes to carry him through the cracks. Someone who claimed to be sensitive but looked at Jeonghan every day and didn’t realize the power he held over him, or how easy it was for him to break Jeonghan’s heart.

But he was also someone that needed a bit of care, even if he looked otherwise, Jeonghan guesses; there’d been none of the urge to kick Jisoo’s seat to wake him, no pestering need to let him suffer as he’d carefully eased Jisoo’s head away from his keyboard and over a neck pillow he’d stolen from Jihoon’s seat. No, he’d thought, draping his coat over Jisoo. Jisoo was anything but what he looked like. Someone who said he hated troubleshooting other people’s messes but stayed behind to help. Someone who looked like he hadn’t worked a day in his life but worked harder than anyone else to the point that he was pulling an all-nighter with Jeonghan even if it hadn’t been his responsibility anyway. Someone who didn’t like pulling his wallet out for unnecessary expenses after one too many cracks from other co-workers about him getting into the company by sheer nepotism and wealth (and how he probably had a bigger salary grade and better benefits than any of them combined as a result), but fed Jeonghan out of his pocket to get him to crawl through the worst day of his stay so far.

Idiots weren’t— still aren’t— Jeonghan’s type, but Jisoo’s the only exception he’s made in his life so far.

*

“The Christmas Eve project,” Jeonghan declares that night, “is a colossal failure.”

After browsing airline pages on his tab and Skyscanner for hours with Seungkwan’s help (okay, more like, Seungkwan’s the only one who had been doing it anyway), he’s come to realize that maybe he shouldn’t have procrastinated. Junhui’s long-since absorbed in his own world of questionable online shopping, and Seokmin and Minghao are just hanging around waiting for Seungkwan to clock out so they can all go home together. Jeonghan knows the only thing keeping Seungkwan here is his little pet project, but the closer they cross _futile_ territory, the more Jeonghan suspects that maybe Seungkwan’s just sticking around to make sure he doesn’t do something drastic like empty all of his life savings just to get the first god damn tickets he can find.

Now that flights are absurdly expensive, there’s practically nothing within his original budget. A part of him is tempted to just flip a coin and fund _one_ parent, but that would just be horrible for all parties involved and Jeonghan would never be able to show his face to the unlucky parent ever again and they would hate him and Jisoo would hate him too and—

“Breathe, hyung,” says Seungkwan, shaking his shoulders before he can spiral further into his panicked ball of anxiety. “No dark thoughts! Not when it’s not even about work!”

“This is my future _happiness_ we’re talking about,” says Jeonghan.

“I told you, you should have just bought him that outfit,” says Junhui. “Nothing screams _I want to take this off of you_ more than a guy giving the person he loves clothes.”

“That was _barely_ clothing, hyung,” says Seungkwan.

“He wasn’t gonna keep it on anyway,” Junhui reasons.

“Please stop giving me more reasons to resign,” says Minghao. “I am _this_ close to handing my notice in.”

“Soonyoungie’s been using him as a venting board since he found out he got Wonwoo,” Junhui explains, looking vaguely sympathetic. “It’s kinda hilarious to watch, in a sad and pathetic way.”

“Even sadder than Jeonghan-hyung blowing his life savings for something he hates?”

“What’s the Christmas Eve project anyway?” Seokmin wonders, stepping in between Seungkwan and Jeonghan before Jeonghan can lunge at him. “Is it code for you finally asking Jisoo-hyung out?”

“It’s code for Jeonghan-hyung’s plan to suck Jisoo-hyung’s dick,” says Seungkwan. At Minghao and Seokmin’s grossed-out expressions, he says, “Really! It is!”

“I ask him out every day!” Jeonghan protests. Seungkwan’s statement, he doesn’t care to refute. It’s not far from the truth anyway.

“Yeah, as _friends_ ,” Seokmin sighs.

“Well, if he succeeds, I don’t think Jisoo-hyung’s gonna think this is anything but friendly,” says Seungkwan. “Flying during the peak season is something people in committed relationships do, _not_ friends.”

“Oh god, is that why you keep asking about flight tickets?” Minghao asks. “Are you planning on taking him to a _sex_ trip?”

“I’m flying his parents in, fuck off,” says Jeonghan.

“Even worse,” says Minghao. “That’s, like, preparing to meet your in-laws already.”

“Assuming I even find anything I can afford,” Jeonghan grumbles.

“If you live on Shin ramyun for a month, I think you’ll be fine,” says Seungkwan.

“Maybe you should scale your plans down a bit, hyung,” says Seokmin, tentatively. “You could always just do something a bit more realistic and less expensive. Why don’t you just ask him out on a _real_ date for Christmas?”

“Get him a Starbucks gift card,” says Minghao. “Nothing says I love you like fueling his caffeine addiction.”

“Too subtle,” says Junhui. “Try something bigger and more public so he can’t back out.”

“Like you cornered Jihoon into convincing you to date him last Valentine’s at the lobby?” Minghao snarks.

Junhui shrugs. “He ended up saying yes, didn’t he?” 

“Why don’t I just get down on one knee and give him a ring while I’m at it?” Jeonghan asks, sarcasm bleeding into his tone. “Maybe it’ll cost less than airfare, right?”

Sarcasm, unfortunately, tends to escape Seokmin. “You’ll have to get married in LA if you do. It’s legal there, you know.”

Jeonghan can’t even find it in himself to get annoyed. “I’m so glad you have more faith in me than I do in myself,” he says, sighing.

“Why not?” Seokmin asks. “Nothing’s stopping you from confessing your love, right?”

“Who’s confessing whose love?” Jisoo asks, popping his head into Jeonghan’s room and simultaneously giving everyone a heart attack.

“What are you _wearing_?” Seungkwan shrieks, turning off his screen.

“It’s a fake Santa beard,” says Jisoo, peeling one side off. “Ho ho ho.”

“It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” says Jeonghan. Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t sound so convincing to his own ears, much less everyone else’s, not when he reaches out to toy with the end of one strand. “You should burn it.”

“Grouch,” says Jisoo. He lets Jeonghan take the beard off for him, then gives him an expectant look. “Now, who were we blatantly gossiping about again?”

“Minghao and his big fat crush on you,” Jeonghan lies. Minghao chucks a paper clip at him. “Really, that’s all we were talking about.”

“I don’t know,” says Jisoo, unconvinced. “I’m pretty sure I heard Seokmin—”

“—say something about how I desperately need to ask you something about a project,” says Seokmin, rising from his seat and cheerily latching onto Jisoo with a manic grin on his face. Lying isn’t Seokmin’s strong point, but hanging around Jeonghan has given him enough guts to fake it till he makes it. “Like, right now. Please?”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” Jisoo complains. “Jihoon’s _right there_.”

“Now’s as good a time as any!”

Jeonghan is building a fucking _altar_ for Seokmin now. He mouths a _thank you_ at Seokmin as he drags Jisoo out, then turns back to Seungkwan.

“Do you think ring shopping would be an easier task than booking flights?”

“I think you need to go home before you start impulse shopping, hyung,” says Seungkwan. “Seokmin’s got a point. You’re gonna need a Christmas miracle at this rate.”

“I _still_ think Jisoo-hyung would be happy with a gift card,” says Minghao.

“For someone who watches a lot of romantic comedies, you’re not a very sentimental person, are you?” Seungkwan points out.

“I’m not the one booking tickets for my boss’ bad decisions _and_ lying through my teeth about other people’s feelings as much as my own,” says Minghao, viciously.

“Your big fat crush is showing, and I’ll never let you live it down,” says Jeonghan.

“I hope you run out of flights and gift cards,” says Minghao.

“Hold that thought,” says Seungkwan. “I think I’ve found you a miracle, hyung.”

Jeonghan crowds around him, peering at the screen. On it, economy airfare for roundtrip tickets to Seoul at 4.9 million won flashes triumphantly in his face. With a whoop, Jeonghan grabs Seungkwan by the shoulders and plasters a wet, smacking kiss to his forehead, impervious to Seungkwan’s gagging and whining. “You are a fucking miracle worker, Boo Seungkwan.”

“You better hurry up,” says Junhui. “There’s only a few seats left, it looks like.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get around to it once Jeonghan-hyung lets me go,” Seungkwan complains. Jeonghan, obediently, loosens his hold to ruffle his hair instead. “Now, what are their passport details?”

Jeonghan’s fingers still in their petting. “Uh,” says Jeonghan.

Seungkwan closes his eyes. “Hyung, please tell me I did _not_ ignore my actual work the entire day just so I could find you tickets within your budget _without_ the most important thing aside from your card.”

Jeonghan, guiltily, says nothing. Seungkwan groans and smacks his head against his desk. _hard_.

“Did you even _talk_ to his parents?” Seungkwan whines.

“I forgot,” Jeonghan whines. “I haven’t done this in a while on my own!”

“Yeah, because you always get me to book your flights,” Seungkwan despairs. “What did you think would even happen? What if they already had plans?”

“What could be more important than seeing Jisoo?” Jeonghan argues.

Seungkwan, wordlessly, throws his hands up and storms out. Junhui gives Jeonghan a sympathetic pat on the back, all while Jeonghan tries not to sink into his seat while scrapping together a new plan.

“Look at the bright side,” says Junhui, sagely. “Now you have money to burn again, right? It’s not too late for cosplay.”

“What did Seokmin say about those rings again?” Jeonghan asks.

Minghao looks at the door, like he’s longing to escape. 

“Oh my god,” says Minghao, flatly. “Why is everyone in this office an idiot?”

*

On the upside, now that Jeonghan’s no longer looking for impossible things like cheap flights on Christmas day, he can focus his energies on online shopping instead. It’s cheaper, more convenient, and— more importantly— doesn’t involve other people’s identification cards and documents outside of his own shipping address. It’s fine. He’s fine. He’s not having a meltdown. He’s _not_.

“Oh my god,” says Seungcheol, after being dragged to intervene come package number four within the span of twenty-four hours. “What is it this time?”

“It’s a tea cozy,” says Jeonghan, brandishing the black plastic bag.

“Jisoo doesn’t drink tea.”

“He will now,” says Jeonghan. “I got him four boxes of different tea bags to go with the teapot I’m _still_ waiting for.”

“The _what_?”

“They had too much flavors to choose from. I couldn’t decide.”

“It says it’s expiring on March.”

“He can drink two every day,” says Jeonghan, waving his worries away. “Variety is the spice of life.”

“Did you get pulled in by promos again?”

“Free shipping and discounts are a godsend,” Jeonghan admits.

Seungcheol sighs, rubbing his forehead. “What else did you get him?”

“Nothing much.” Except for maybe a year’s supply of kitschy office supplies, a couple (dozen) phone cases, three pouches of Jisoo’s favorite chocolates from the States, and beddings and curtains for their future bedroom together. Oh, and cute baby wear for their (still non-existent) eldest daughter. Guiltily, he closes the shopping cart full of nineteen other items along with the tabs on Home and Décor; maybe furniture is a _bit_ extreme at this point.

“Stop it,” Seungcheol commands. “I’ll get the receptionist to stop signing your deliveries if you keep doing this. You’re acting just like Wonwoo.”

“Wonwoo’s been getting Soonyoung nothing but gag gifts,” Jeonghan points out, outraged. Just this morning, Soonyoung had received an ugly sweater that made him squawk and Jisoo sigh longingly, ever the holiday enthusiast with bad taste. Yesterday, Soonyoung’s _email_ got reported to the regional IT after being bombarded with day passes to different porn sites (though to be honest none of them are sure if it’s _really_ a prank as opposed to a thinly-veiled suggestion. No one really knows.). Either way, Jeonghan’s sure his gift-giving skills are infinitely better than Wonwoo’s. “I only want to give Jisoo nice things.”

“You’re both equally excessive,” says Seungcheol. “Why don’t you just get Jisoo something for his guitar and call it a day?”

Jeonghan lets out a considering hum, opening a new search tab. “How much do you think an electric guitar would cost?”

“You are _not_ getting him a brand-new guitar.”

“It won’t be,” Jeonghan promises. It doesn’t count if it’s a signed and pre-owned guitar from one of his favorite bands, right?

“Jeonghan,” says Seungcheol, looking at him with eyes full of pity and not a little judgment, “you realize you’re taking this a little overboard and that he’ll be happy with anything you get him, right?”

Jeonghan looks at his screen, then at Seungcheol’s furrowed eyebrows. He looks away, suddenly diverted. “Do you think the US team can get Usher to sign something on short notice?”

“That’s it,” says Seungcheol. “I’m confiscating your card.”

*

“How’s Secret Santa going for you?” Wonwoo asks him, not really sounding enthusiastic, much less interested, when Jeonghan slides right beside him in his workspace and subsequently sinks under the table to evade Seungcheol’s searching look. “Did you finally get to choose which among your multitude of deliveries you were gonna give Jisoo-hyung?”

“Just fucking peachy. I was thinking of giving him a picture frame with nothing but my pictures in it, but I heard you already thought of that,” says Jeonghan, gritting his teeth and flashing Wonwoo his best ‘talk to me like that again and I will kill you _dead_ ’ face. It doesn’t seem to work, so he tries for petty vengeance instead. “How’s torturing Soonyoung going from your end?”

“I’m not torturing him,” says Wonwoo, calmly chewing on his chicken pesto sandwich as he fiddles with his phone. “I’m showering him with love.”

“Pretty sure I heard him use the words ‘eviscerate’ and ‘fucktard’ in the same breath at our last meeting.”

“He could have been talking about anyone from his team.”

That… is actually true. Soonyoung’s never been known to be the gentle and caring type, especially not around people as high-strung as his entire team. Still, Jeonghan’s not deterred. “I think it’s cute you still express affection like a five-year-old.”

“Might be an upgrade from toddler-like possessiveness and fixation,” says Wonwoo, breezily, but before Jeonghan can bristle and take offense, he changes tactics and goes back to talking about his favorite subject— outside of cats, video games and sleep, of course. “I’m not too concerned. He’ll come around.”

Jeonghan follows Wonwoo’s line of sight, right across the other end of the room where Soonyoung seems to be arguing with Chan over something. Soonyoung looks up, then makes a face and sticks his tongue out at their general direction, the way he tends to when he looks at Wonwoo. “What if he never does?”

“Well, we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we get there, don’t we?” Wonwoo says, unfazed. Then, with a wry grin, he raises a hand. “Hey, Cheol-hyung.”

“Hey,” says Seungcheol, cracking his knuckles. “Thanks for tipping me off. I should have known Jeonghan would be hiding out here.”

“Traitor,” Jeonghan hisses.

“I’m actually a very loyal person. It’s one of my positive traits.”

“You just ratted me out!”

“You insulted me first,” says Wonwoo, loftily. “Now excuse me. I’ve got more gifts to think about and people to stalk.”

“Sounds exactly like Santa,” says Seungcheol. “I think.”

“I keep telling Soonyoung that, but he never listens,” Wonwoo sighs.

For Soonyoung’s sake and Jeonghan’s ego, Jeonghan hopes Wonwoo crashes and burns _terribly_. It’s the only karmic retribution he can think of that can salve the wound of Seungcheol manhandling his wallet away from his pockets. _Never again_.

*

“Seungcheol tells me your inner shopaholic’s been awakened recently,” says Jisoo by way of greeting as they head into the meeting room together the next day.

“Seungcheol is a big, fat liar and can’t be trusted with anything,” says Jeonghan, surly. He’s never going to forgive Seungcheol for cornering him and stealing his credit cards away for “safekeeping” and Jisoo’s sanity. _Ha_.

“I’m glad the spirit of Christmas has finally come to you,” says Jisoo, smirking. “Now that it’s the season of giving, maybe you can give _me_ a little something out of the kindness of your heart too?”

“I’m obligated, not possessed,” Jeonghan lies, ignoring how Jisoo’s suggestive smile is making his stomach do flips and his mind wander back into more _illicit_ corners of Gmarket.

“You’re right,” says Jisoo. “You’re the biggest Christmas anti-fan I know.”

Jeonghan bites back the surly retort playing on his tongue, something like shame squirming at his insides at the memory of all the parcels waiting to be stacked into the biggest gift box(es) he can find. It’s sobering to think that if he’d never gotten Jisoo, he wouldn’t have spent so much effort into finding the perfect gift— whatever _that_ is. Part of him wants to childishly upend all his receipts on JIsoo’s desk just to prove a point, but the more rational part is only a little bit terrified that Jisoo will either find it hilarious or just look at him the same way Seungcheol did, like Jeonghan’s deranged. Or _something_.

He’d probably chalk it up to being overworked or— or— Jeonghan not being able to meet his family for the holidays and overcompensating as a result. Not like Jisoo would ever believe in Jeonghan’s propensity towards charity around Christmas season— Jeonghan’s made no secret of his thoughts on the season (commercially viable, a marketer’s bane and joy all at once, and only enjoyable within a very specific demographic that’s either underage or far from being woefully single), and to Jisoo’s mind, Jeonghan is the equivalent of The Worst Person in the World for removing the magic of Christmas from many a campaign. There’s a reason no one wants to give Jeonghan any clients with moms and kids as a target market every Q4. (Well, him and Wonwoo both, but at least Wonwoo’s stuck with auto and consumer electronics.) Everything is a lie.

“Excuse you, I’m great with children,” says Jeonghan, scandalized, when the Ferrero account gets passed over to Seokmin instead at the next internal briefing with the creatives and strat teams. “Girls think I’m a fucking _angel_ or a fairy prince!”

“Which is perfectly fine any other season,” says Jisoo, “but you _hate_ Christmas.”

“No, I don’t!”

“You once made Seungcheol’s nephew cry when you told him Santa didn’t exist.”

“It’s all Cheol’s fault for lying,” says Jeonghan. “How was I supposed to know no one enlightened him about it?”

“No kid wants to get pitched a big idea with Santa’s existence questioned, much less a company that profits from their sweet tooth,” says Jisoo. “Try again when you have a better idea.”

“It’s supposed to be a heartwarming story emphasizing the importance of family over fictional characters,” Jeonghan argues. “And anyway, I put a dog in the storyboard! Everyone loves dogs!”

“ _You killed the dog in the story_ ,” Jisoo exclaims. “Right after you made the dad dressed up as Santa fall out of the window!”

“Which is _why_ the big idea is about not undervaluing the things you love!”

“This is a fucking piece of chocolate, not a spiritual successor to Dog of Flanders,” Jihoon butts in. “No offense, but I am _not_ gonna deal with the PR nightmare of moms boycotting when they realize we’re responsible for making their kids cry.”

“You have to admit, though, we could probably use it for an insurance ad,” says Mingyu, who’s been sitting in with them as the poor account manager and project lead victimized by Seungcheol this time around. He holds up both hands at Jisoo and Jihoon’s combined frowns, shrinking meekly into his seat. “Never mind. Ignore me. I’m just here to be a wallflower, thanks.”

“Santa being real and alive is non-negotiable, Jeonghan,” says Jisoo. “Right, Jihoon?”

Jihoon just grunts, looking like he wants to be anywhere but here, caught in the middle of his teammates. This is why he tends to leave the internal meetings up to Jisoo or Jeonghan instead. On a normal day, everything would be smooth-sailing with Jisoo and Jeonghan tyrannically overruling any complaints with their like-minded benevolent dictatorship, but now that Jeonghan’s making a point to be contrarian and Jisoo refuses to budge, the meeting’s been going longer than expected. A peaceful lunch out, unfortunately, will have to wait.

“See?” Jisoo says, looking far too smug. “You’re free to go back to the brief any time if you want.”

“It’s okay, hyung,” says Seokmin, meekly. “Didn’t you say you were thinking about going on leave this Friday? I can work on this with Gyu while you think of something for the Samsung account.”

“Yeah, let’s just leave it to the people with genuinely good hearts,” says Jisoo, tone joking even as it makes Jeonghan’s insides churn with discomfort. “Right, Jeonghan?”

And while any other day, Jeonghan would have rejoiced in the prospect of one less deadline to think about on his plate, Jisoo’s utter lack of faith stings as bitterly as the memory of overpriced airfare and overabundant packages. Not for the first time, he realizes— he’s the only one invested in this, after all.

“Fine,” Jeonghan mutters, shutting his laptop screen with a forceful _thud_ that makes Seokmin flinch and even Jisoo look surprised. “He can have the damn account.”

*

He doesn’t ask Jisoo out for lunch, and neither does Jisoo approach him. It’s fine. They’re fine. Jeonghan will get over it.

*

Jeonghan is _not_ over it.

“I don’t understand,” Jeonghan whines to Chan, who’s been studiously ignoring him in favor of scanning more important documents than letting Jeonghan lick his wounds. “Why doesn’t he think I’m a nice person?”

“Because you’re not?” Chan mutters. He opens the scanner’s lid, then flips over the signed CE the finance team has been hounding Soonyoung for weeks ago. Organization, really, is far from being Soonyoung’s strong suit.

Affronted, Jeonghan jabs the pause button and deletes Chan’s job order on the system. “Excuse me?”

“You’re really not doing a good job disproving my point hyung,” says Chan, sounding exasperated like he’s dealing with a small child throwing tantrums, never mind that Jeonghan is practically half a decade older than him. Four’s close enough, right? “Why are you letting this get to you so much? Wasn’t he just joking?”

“Jokes are half-meant,” says Jeonghan, still sulking.

“So? He still likes you. Why does it matter that he doesn’t think you fart rainbows and sunshine out of your ass?”

“I don’t know,” says Jeonghan. “I feel like he doesn’t trust me enough.”

“Not everything is about you, hyung,” Chan reminds him. “Besides, Seokmin’s doing a pretty good job so far, right? Doesn’t it just mean Jisoo-hyung’s giving everyone else more chances?”

“Stop being so reasonable and let me be selfish,” Jeonghan complains.

“See, this is the problem. He’s been spoiling you too much.”

“I don’t feel spoiled at all,” Jeonghan grumbles.

Chan rolls his eyes, then feels around his pants pocket. He tosses a couple of pastel-colored macarons wrapped in plastic to Jeonghan, sighing.

“I was gonna hoard it all for myself if you got too annoying, but now I feel bad,” says Chan. “Here. Jisoo-hyung got you these and asked me to give them to you in case you were still moping.”

“I was _not_ moping,” Jeonghan defends himself. “And this is bribery!”

“You’re still eating, though.”

Jeonghan bites into the macaron, feeling the sweetness linger on his tongue. Sugar, cloying and sticky, temporarily soothing the acid in his stomach. Jisoo’s always been good at manipulating his moods. It’s annoying.

*

 _are you still mad at me?_ Jisoo messages him later on, following it up with a crying sticker of Pusheen the cat.

 _you’re the worst and you’re buying me dinner_ , Jeonghan messages back.

Jisoo sends him a triumphant cat gif in response, pleased. Feeling his lips tug upwards into a small smirk, Jeonghan thinks— he’s never claimed to be a good person anyway.

*

The first time he’d met Jisoo, he’d thought he was an entitled rich kid that was a bit of a prick.

Granted, he hadn’t really talked to the guy— only Seungcheol had had the nerve to approach him, and even then Seungcheol had emerged from the conversation looking mildly intimidated. “Either he doesn’t wanna talk or he just has pretty basic Korean skills,” said Seungcheol. “I couldn’t really get more out of him other than a nod.”

Jeonghan was far from the friendliest person in the crop of new hires, either, so he’d never really found the need to make small talk with Jisoo. They had no shared projects, barely went to the same places for lunch, and as far as he was concerned, Jisoo didn’t look like he was looking to make friends either. Freshly graduated, they were all just a little bit eager to prove themselves a bit, competitive to a fault, and if there were any comparisons made between their batch, well— they weren’t there to make friends after all, even if Jisoo was perfectly nice and polite to everyone else.

Still, he would have been ignorant or just dumb as bricks to not notice the way other people distanced themselves from Jisoo— _I heard he only got in because of his family._ _He doesn’t really work well in a team._ _The other day, he didn’t even bow to the client. Isn’t that embarrassing?_ _He can’t understand enough Korean. What is he even doing here?_ The rumor mill spread on, but Jisoo kept his chin up, impervious to the gossip. Whether it was out of genuine lack of comprehension or just steel-hardened determination, Jeonghan didn’t know.

Or maybe he was just really a dumbass, Jeonghan thought, as he listened in from the hallway as one of the seniors chewed Jisoo out for not knowing proper drinking etiquette. The entire department was out for drinks, and Jisoo had been the unfortunate victim of one too many power-tripping assholes; shame was power, and he’d had the misfortune of being picked out for not serving everyone else drinks as the youngest.

He’d made his presence known, rapping on the door to the bathroom while pretending to be a staff member of the karaoke bar, and the scolding stopped. He slinked away before they could open the door, and he settled back in his seat beside Seungcheol.

Jisoo didn’t come back until later, probably five minutes longer than the senior executive who’d taken him aside. He looked not unlike his usual self, aloof, distant, but his eyes were red, sore— just like he’d been crying. Jeonghan took another sip of his soju, then made his way over to where Jisoo sat in the farthest corner of the room.

“Your fly’s open,” said Jeonghan, after a moment of awkward silence. Jisoo looked surprised that he’d even talked to him at all, then looked down at his pants, flustered.

“It’s not,” he said, tone belligerent and mulish— far from the nice guy image he’d been cultivating around everyone else, and it made Jeonghan smirk. Jisoo huffed, looking away. “You’re terrible.”

“Yeah, but not as bad as Hara-sshi, right?” Jisoo kept his lips firmly pressed into a tight line. Jeonghan liked that he still had a spine. “I heard he’s resigning by the end of the year. He’s been fucking up his projects lately.”

“Well, it’s none of our business,” said Jisoo, and Jeonghan almost thought he’d be dismissed icily until Jisoo reached out for his drink and tipped it up to his lips. “Incompetent people are the worst, especially when they take it out on people that actually do their jobs right.”

“Those assholes can suck their own dicks,” Jeonghan agreed, shrugging. He raised his glass, letting it clink against Jisoo’s, steadier than Jisoo’s own hand. “I’m glad you’re in the team, Jisoo-sshi.”

Jisoo gave him a long, considering look, then smiled. “You’re drunk, Jeonghan-sshi,” he said— the first time he’d let slip he’d even known who Jeonghan was. “But for what it’s worth, I feel the same way.”

And that, Jeonghan thought, was the start of everything, really. It was easy to like him even more after that.

*

Of course, it’s a little hard to remember why he likes him so much, once in a while. The minute Jisoo starts blasting _O Holy Night_ outside Jeonghan’s apartment, Jeonghan wants to suffocate himself with a pillow and never wake up.

“No one’s home!” He yells as he tugs on a pair of pajama pants and a shirt.

“Merry Christmas!” Comes Jisoo’s familiar voice, making Jeonghan’s skin prick with goosebumps and not just from the room feeling frozen over. “Open up!”

“It’s the last week of November, I just got home at two in the morning on a _Saturday_ , and you got Seokmin for Secret Santa,” Jeonghan groans, pressing his forehead against his front door. “Go away.”

“Can’t I spread a little holiday cheer?” Jisoo asks, but at least he turns off the sound coming from his phone. Small mercies still apparently exist, but not enough.

“By depriving me of my right to sleep in?” Jeonghan grumbles. “I hate you.”

“I’ve got coffee.”

“Fuck that, I love you,” says Jeonghan, fervently, as he unlocks the front door and lets Jisoo in. If he clings onto Jisoo’s shoulders and sniffs his hair just a little, it’s not his fault. He’s not exactly completely sane just yet. “Coffeeee.”

“I’m just making sure you’re alive, Mr. Grumpy Pants?” Jisoo teases, handing him a cup of coffee in his other hand. Peppermint, it smells like. Jisoo doesn’t push him away just yet, even if Jeonghan’s practically thrown himself at him. “How’s the deck going?”

“Terribly,” says Jeonghan. “What are you really doing here, Satan?”

“I’m being a kind and caring friend,” says Jisoo, batting his eyelashes. It makes Jeonghan’s insides squirm, but he calls on every ounce of his willpower not to fall for his wiles.

“Try again or else I’m kicking you out,” says Jeonghan, steering him into the living room.

“Man, you never let me have any fun,” says Jisoo. He throws himself against Jeonghan’s couch, sinking into it like it’s his own. “I was wondering if you wanted to come with me and do a bit of Christmas shopping.”

“For your Secret Santa?”

“No, for you, Captain Obvious,” says Jisoo. “Of course for my Secret Santa! Who else?”

“And here I thought you were genuinely going to give me something out of the goodness of your heart.”

“I’ll deign on giving you the gift of my company if I feel generous enough,” says Jisoo, tone light even as Jeonghan’s heart flutters. Jeonghan has to take a sip of his drink to calm his insides, only to spit it back out.

“What the hell? This isn’t coffee!”

“It’s eggnog.”

Jeonghan stares at him blankly.

“Never mind, you heathen. Remind me to never get you that as a gift for Christmas,” Jisoo sighs. Then, perking up, he offers Jeonghan a sly smile. “Of course, if you wanted to gift it to _me_ , I wouldn’t turn it down.”

“Nah,” says Jeonghan, handing him the offensive drink. “I’ll get you something less packed with diabetes.”

“What are you getting me for Christmas, then?” Jisoo asks, feigning innocence. It’s always a good thing Jeonghan can see right through him.

“Myself,” Jeonghan deadpans.

“Pass. I don’t want it. What are you _really_ getting me for Christmas?”

“Minghao says I should get you a Starbucks gift card.”

“Minghao’s a wise man,” says Jisoo, looking far too pleased at the idea. “You should listen to him.”

“You just want cash and coffee.”

“Both very excellent choices that I’d never turn down.”

“Fine,” says Jeonghan. “I’ll give you 100 yen and instant coffee. One for Christmas, another for your birthday.”

“That’s cheating! Just because I was born in December doesn’t mean you can give me a 2-in-1 gift!”

Jeonghan cackles, only to get hit by a throw pillow. “Ow!”

“Go shower and change already so we can go out and splurge,” Jisoo commands him.

“Tyrant,” says Jeonghan. “I did _not_ sign up to be your errand boy this season.”

“Call me your majesty, slave,” says Jisoo, imperiously, crossing his arms and spreading his legs apart.

Jeonghan stalks away to find a towel before he does something stupid like, say, kneel in front of Jisoo, kiss his feet and suck him off, all in the span of five minutes. And then he takes an extra ten minutes in the shower desperately jacking off to the mental image, because _god_. He’s only human. It’s not his fault his dick is naturally programmed to find anything Jisoo does hot.

*

Apparently so does the rest of the fucking world, he thinks, darkly, as he watches Jisoo get picked up in Itaewon how many hours later.

“Stop glaring at everyone,” Jisoo scolds him through gritted teeth. “You’re scaring people off.”

Not enough apparently, considering more than one person had walked up to them already for their numbers. “That guy was creepy.”

“He was asking for directions!”

“I’ll bet.”

Jisoo pinches his side, hard enough to make him wince but not enough to shrug him off. “Social skills, Jeonghan. I know you have them.”

Jeonghan huffs but pretends to stew in his sulking just to make sure Jisoo’s arm stays looped around his. Part of him vaguely wonders if this is what Wonwoo’s alluded to before, but the bigger part is just preening in self-satisfaction at the warmth of Jisoo’s body against his.

Walking under the bright lights paving the path, he wonders if they look any different from all the couples walking hand in hand around them. It doesn’t take much to make it look more intimate, he thinks, twining their fingers together. Holding hands is easy, second nature already even if it makes Jisoo cringe asking for it. It’s a good thing Jeonghan is so easily susceptible to suggestion. The flat of his palm, slightly rough, mostly cold— they all call Jeonghan’s fingers, making them brush against Jisoo’s skin, briefly, before tangling together as one.

“Your hand’s cold,” Jisoo complains, flinching.

“Warm me up, then,” says Jeonghan.

Jisoo shakes his head, but he doesn’t let go. It appeases some small, primal part in Jeonghan, the same part that’s a little selfish, a little single-minded. _Mine_ , he thinks, tightening his hold on Jisoo. _Mine_ , when he cradles Jisoo’s knuckles to his palm.

But it’s not all take, though— he just feels so full of love, he’s overflowing, and he wants it to seep through Jisoo without needing words. How come it’s so much harder to say anything when the feelings are more real? His mouth feels like cotton, his tongue useless and frozen. He can’t do anything but clear his throat and try to find the right things to say, rendered inarticulate.

“Hmm?” Jisoo turns to look at him. “You’re quiet again. Are you still in a bad mood?”

“Nah, I’m just thinking,” Jeonghan lies. He bites the inside of his cheek, then rubs his thumb against Jisoo’s skin. “What do you want for Christmas?”

“A PS4,” says Jisoo, without missing a beat. “Or a wallet stuffed with money.”

“You’re not doing a very good job at convincing me that Christmas is anything but materialistic.”

“Don’t knock our bread and butter,” says Jisoo.

“Fair enough,” says Jeonghan, shrugging. “Are you doing anything for Christmas, then?”

“Other than stuffing myself with wine and cheese?” Jeonghan closes his eyes, trying to bite down the mental image of Jisoo stuffing himself with something else entirely. “Not really. I was thinking I’d just eat and sleep all day. The usual, you know?”

“So you’re not going home from Christmas, then,” Jeonghan confirms.

Jisoo raises an eyebrow at him. “Technically, this _is_ my home now, you know.”

“That’s not what I mean. Aren’t you gonna miss your parents?”

“Of course I’ll miss them. I miss them every day.”

“Then what about you? Aren’t you spending your Christmas with your parents?”

“That’s different. Christmas doesn’t have the same meaning for me as it does for you.”

“Oh? And what do you think it means for me?”

“Family, I guess,” says Jeonghan. His mouth feels dry, not even licking his lips can stave the feeling. “Being with the people you love.”

Jisoo doesn’t say anything for a while, up until they reach the intersection. They stop in front of the red light, no longer holding onto each other. Half a foot separates them, and Jeonghan itches to cross it.

“You think I don’t love you?” Jisoo asks, sounding distracted.

“It’s not the same as being with someone you like the most on Christmas,” says Jeonghan, frustration and helplessness welling up in him all at once. “You’ve been here long enough to know it’s always been about couples here more than anything else.”

“I guess,” says Jisoo. He looks at Jeonghan again, eyes scrunching up as he smiles. “I’m fine doing things like this with the person I like the most, I think. Just like last year.”

“So I’m just a stand-in dummy for your trial run?”

Jisoo gives him a once-over, then flicks his forehead, _hard_. “A dummy, definitely,” he says, impervious to Jeonghan’s grumbling. “Now come on, I’m hungry. I’ll treat you to dinner— but only this time!”

He goes ahead, walking towards the green light so briskly, Jeonghan has no choice but to follow close behind. Always, always— Jisoo’s out of reach, he just wants to catch him, trap him and never let him go.

It’s impossible to expect anything more.

*

“I need your help again.”

“I’m a little busy here, hyung,” says Seungkwan, through gritted teeth. “Can you try again later?”

“Later’s too late,” says Jeonghan. “I’ve got a deadline.”

“So do I,” says Seungkwan. “I’m planning a party. On my own. _In two weeks_ , might I add—”

“You’ve got Jisoo’s passport details with you, right?” says Jeonghan, covering Seungkwan’s mouth with his palm. At Seungkwan’s wary nod, he takes a deep breath and continues, “I need you to book a flight from Seoul to LA under Jisoo’s name.”

Seungkwan blinks at him, slowly. “What?”

“A roundtrip flight. Two weeks. Three, if you can get him something earlier. I don’t care.”

“He has meetings until the 23rd,” Seungwan points out. “There’s no way I can get him something earlier than that—”

“I talked to Seungcheol already.” He hasn’t. “It’s fine. I’ll fill in for Jisoo while he’s out.” Not like he has anything better to do anyway. He’ll live.

“Yoon Jeonghan not grabbing the opportunity to get a paid vacation?” Seungkwan muses. “Who are you and what have you done to him?”

“Must be possessed by a deranged spirit,” says Jeonghan, shrugging.

Seungkwan strokes his chin as he looks at his screen, brow furrowed with every tab he opens. “It’s gonna cost a lot by now, though. It’s really short notice…”

“I don’t care,” says Jeonghan. “Get him business class or whatever. It’s fine.”

“Wow,” says Seungkwan, whistling. “If he doesn’t suck your dick after this stunt, I don’t know what will.”

“I’m fine with a thank you,” says Jeonghan. “Everything else is just a bonus.”

“Didn’t know you had an inner romantic in you under that ice-cold heart, hyung,” says Seungkwan. He cracks his knuckles, looking even more determined. “Let’s go get you laid.”

*

 _you do realize you’ve crossed into sugar daddy territory, right?_ Seungcheol reminds him, right after grudgingly surrendering one of his cards back for the good cause— but not without a frustrated yelling match all while trying not to let anyone else cotton in on the source of the argument.

 _shut up and text me my cvv number_ , Jeonghan tells him instead.

His credit card statement isn’t gonna be too happy with him, but poor impulse control, bad decision-making, blind infatuation— whatever it is, logic’s practically impaired in the face of Jisoo’s loneliness. It’s easier, too, to hide it under the guise of Secret Santa. That way, Jisoo won’t feel as obligated to return the favor, right? Isn’t that what this whole give-and-take is about?

That’s all that really matters in the end, he guesses— making Jisoo happy.

 _you’re insane, but ok_ , Seungcheol says, sending him a blurry picture of the back of his card. Then, a beat later, he adds: _hao says you can use his frequent-flyer miles. merry christmas, you bastard_.

 _I knew he had a fucking crush on Jisoo_ , Jeonghan texts back. Then, for posterity, he says the same thing to Minghao directly and gets a picture of Minghao’s slender middle finger in response.

He only gets one-way free, but hey— it’s a few hundred thousand won and Shin Ramyun less off his plate for now. He can work with that.

Looks like the Christmas Eve project is _really_ gonna be a miracle. Funny, that.

*

“Maybe I should quit to be an escort.”

Jisoo had said it one weekend in passing, three glasses of wine in and the plate of gourmet cheese on Jeonghan’s only salvageable wooden chopping board half-demolished already. They were watching this Julia Roberts movie— Pretty Woman, or something like it, and Jeonghan couldn’t follow half the conversations without any subtitles, but he was pretty sure Jisoo was only translating out of his ass, already drunk out of his mind.

Then again, Hollywood movies were kinda strange, and Jeonghan couldn’t really understand much of the appeal outside of action movies, but Jisoo loved romantic comedies. He loved them in any language, but the ones he had a weakness for were the cheesy, sensationalized ones, the kind of sordid stuff that’d be a hit with the tabloids if they ever happened in real life.

Guess that was kind of why they’d been watching a movie featuring hookers and sugar daddies instead of Love Actually all over again, he guessed.

“No one would hire you,” said Jeonghan, taking a sip of his own drink. “You don’t have the ass for it.”

“Who died and made you the authority on my ass?” Jisoo asked, ever absent of a filter when deep in cups of alcohol. “You’ve never even looked!”

He had, but it was easier to fall back on lies. “There’s nothing to look at,” said Jeonghan. He reached out to palm at Jisoo’s backside, dodging the kick Jisoo aimed at his face. “See? I don’t feel anything but skin and bones.”

“Pervert,” said Jisoo, but he leaned closer to burrow into Jeonghan’s side, achingly lovely as his ears turned pink from too much wine. “Now you’re just being an opportunistic bastard.”

“You’ll have to get used to all those dirty old men copping a feel, Joshuji,” he said, patting Jisoo’s back. His palm lay flat against the small of his back, resting right at the base of his spine protectively. “All those wolves will want to eat you up.”

“How terrifying,” said Jisoo, drily. He reached up to pinch at Jeonghan’s cheeks, far from being gentle. “Am I supposed to be scared if they look as harmless as you?”

 _You should be_ , he thought, longing to grab the back of Jisoo’s neck and draw him close for a kiss. He wanted to trace the flush of Jisoo’s skin, from his face, to his throat, down to his chest. Lower, still. It would have been so easy to blame it on the alcohol, _in vino veritas_ and all. But he didn’t. He didn’t.

“They should be more afraid of you,” he said instead, and it made Jisoo’s lips curve upward.

“For a few hundred thousand a night, I can be as nice as they want me to be,” said Jisoo.

“Very manipulative,” said Jeonghan, and Jisoo tossed his head back, cackling.

“I beg to differ,” said Jisoo. “The most manipulative person in this room is _you_ , after all.”

*

“You look way too happy to be coming into work at—” Jihoon looks at the clock, then looks back at Jeonghan in disbelief. “Seven-thirty in the morning? What the hell are you planning?”

“And _you_ look like you spent the night here,” says Jeonghan, smug; “Does Junnie know you blew him off last night so you can crawl back to work?”

“You’re terrible and I’ll never speak of this again,” says Jihoon, jabbing his finger into the biometric system before shutting the door on his way out. “Don’t touch anything. _Please_.”

“I would _never_ ,” Jeonghan calls out, then heads over to Jisoo’s desk to slide a printed itinerary under his stack of documents along with a post-it decorated with hearts— all according to plan.

*

But, of course, the best-laid plans always find ways to fall through the cracks.

*

“Hyung, can I ask for a favor?”

Jeonghan accidentally closes the tabs on his browser, startled by the interruption. He’s been dicking around the Internet trying not to feel antsy about Jisoo discovering his present (and maybe falling into his arms, weepy and inconsolable and grateful enough to indulge in a bit of raunchy office making out), but so far Seungkwan’s threatened to strangle him with his phone line if he doesn’t stop calling to check on Jisoo.

Unfortunately, Jisoo’s out of the office on meetings all day, so the gratitude will have to wait. In the meantime, his only visitor so far has been Seungcheol rolling his eyes at him and, apparently, Soonyoung— Soonyoung’s hanging around the doorway, looking vaguely sheepish and awkward with his hand poised in the air after rapping at the doorframe, an infrequent visitor outside of break time if there ever was one. It’s strange.

“This is a surprise,” says Jeonghan. “You don’t really ask me for anything much.”

Soonyoung puffs his cheeks out, something that Chan keeps telling him looks far from cute and just looks _wrong_ but makes Junhui clap his hands and takes pictures to bedevil everyone (read: Wonwoo) with more often than not. “It’s not about work.” _Figures_. “It’s about the Secret Santa thing.”

“Ah,” says Jeonghan, knowingly. “Are you here to ask about what you should get for—” He pauses, then waggles his eyebrows at Soonyoung as he places his chin on his hands. “Your recipient?”

“Cut the crap, hyung. Everyone knows I got Wonwoo, and Wonwoo got me.”

“What?” Jeonghan asks, exaggerating his gasp. “You _did_?”

Soonyoung just looks at him blankly.

“Okay, fine, nothing is a secret in this damn office. Sucks to be you,” says Jeonghan. “I don’t think he knows you got him yet, though. You’ve got plenty of time to take revenge.”

“I’m not interested in his stupid games,” says Soonyoung, making a face. “Especially not when one of you guys rigged this whole thing.”

“If it’s any consolation, I had nothing to do with this.”

“I figured, considering how much you hate things like this,” Soonyoung scoffs, right before taking a seat in front of Jeonghan’s desk. He fidgets with the stapler on Jeonghan’s desk, uneasiness taking over once more. “Do you— do you wanna trade with me instead?”

Jeonghan stares. “You want me to be Wonwoo’s Secret Santa?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t trust myself not to give him something we’ll both regret if he keeps pissing me off.”

Well, that’s one less competent person from the accounts team, but Jeonghan’s _not_ stepping into that landmine at the expense of his own chances at a blossoming love life. “Fat chance,” says Jeonghan. “I got Jisoo.”

“Even better,” says Soonyoung. “I can think of a hundred things I can give him already.”

“I literally _have_ a hundred things I wanna give him already.” More than a hundred zeros tacked onto the expensive tickets, really. Soonyoung is _not_ ruining this for him.

“Yeah, but you’re not exactly great at this whole gift-giving thing, hyung,” Soonyoung points out, delicately.

“And _you’re_ any better?”

“Of course I am. I’m a _thoughtful_ person.”

“Here’s something to think about, then— how about you can go fuck yourself?”

“Hyung,” Soonyoung’s tone turns somber, less whiny— his pout vanishes, replaced only by a thin line. “I’m serious. I don’t want Wonwoo.”

Jeonghan inspects his face, then sees none of the earlier humor in it. Soonyoung’s a friendly person, the type to approach someone first and then think about it later on, but he’s got a short temper and the EQ of a gnat to boot. There’s a betting pool on when Soonyoung would explode at Wonwoo’s idea of gag gifts. Jeonghan hasn’t thought of it happening as a clean cut instead of a crackle of fireworks; it’s strangely more vulnerable than it would have been in public otherwise.

“It’s not—” Jeonghan starts, then hesitates. “You know he doesn’t mean anything bad, right? It’s just teasing, that’s all.”

“I know,” says Soonyoung. His lips curve up, but there’s no humor in it, only the ghost of a smile. “It doesn’t mean I don’t get tired of it, though.”

And suddenly the guilt demons come flooding in, making him crack. As much as everyone likes to tease him about being selfish and high-maintenance, he’s always, _always_ weak to sad, tiny animals. _Damn it_.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he asks Soonyoung, quietly, “Do you want me to talk to Jisoo about calling this whole thing off instead?” Soonyoung looks at him, alarmed. “It’s fine— he knows I hate stuff like this anyway. It’s not gonna be a big deal if I throw a tantrum over it.”

“But that’s just gonna make you the bad guy just because I can’t solve my own shit—”

“Well, I’ve always had practice on that front, right?” Jeonghan assures him, ruffling his hair. “Jisoo can’t get mad at me forever. Plus I can always get my credit cards back from Seungcheol once this is over.”

Soonyoung scrunches up his face, like he’s trying to control whatever emotions are flitting through his mind and failing all at once. “Thanks, hyung. Now I’ve gotta think about what I’m gonna do with all the crap Wonwoo’s sent me.”

“What is it this time?” Jeonghan asks, warily.

Soonyoung just blanches, looking haunted. “You don’t wanna know.”

Jeonghan rubs his forehead, making a mental note to yell at Seungcheol about Wonwoo later. “Want me to talk to him too?”

“I think I just need to work out a few things myself first, then I’ll kill him later,” says Soonyoung. “Uh, out of curiosity, though— do you know anyone who might be looking to adopt a kitten or two this Christmas?”

*

“ _I can’t believe you got him a fucking litter of cats_!” 

“Oh, did he tell you about it?” Wonwoo asks, looking too smug for his own good. “They were pretty cute. I got them from Junhui, along with a few other things—” Jeonghan blanches, already thinking of the worst. “I hope they’re destroying all his furniture by now. They’re very cute but they’re very high-maintenance, just like he is.”

“This is the most irresponsible thing I’ve heard you do, and I’ve seen you do a lot of stupid shit, hyung,” says Mingyu, ever the voice of judgment caught in the middle of Seungcheol, Jeonghan and Jisoo’s combined ire in breakroom. “Why would you give Soonyoung-hyung pets?”

“I didn’t _give_ them to him,” says Wonwoo. “I left them in a nice gift basket and got his sister to smuggle them in his apartment.”

“His apartment doesn’t allow pets,” says Seungcheol, eyebrows knitting together.

“So?” Wonwoo asks, shrugging. “I’ve been bugging him to move in with me for weeks.”

“You _what_?”

“I already gave him the passcode. Left it on his desk and everything.”

“Does he _know_ you left it there?”

“He’s been in my apartment enough times. He should know it by now.”

“You know what, I don’t even wanna know what he’s been doing in your apartment when you’ve been annoying him every day,” says Seungcheol, groaning. He holds a hand up, stalling Mingyu’s bright-eyed expression, hungry for office gossip. “ _No_. We are _not_ talking about this.”

“But this is the juiciest piece of gossip we’ve had since Jun-hyung asked Jihoon-hyung out,” Mingyu bemoans. “You can’t expect me to just _sit_ here and not dig into everything!”

“We’ve been sleeping with each other before those two even started going out,” says Wonwoo. “How could you not know this?”

“ _Seriously_?”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now,” Seungcheol butts in, annoyed. “Soonyoung doesn’t want the cats.”

That gets Wonwoo’s attention quickly enough. “What do you mean, he doesn’t want them?” Wonwoo asks, normally low voice turning the teensiest bit high-pitched the way it does when he gets agitated.

Jisoo and Seungcheol look at each other, hesitant. Jeonghan takes a deep breath, trying to will the incoming migraine in his head away. “He’s asking around if anyone wants to adopt them,” he says, tersely. “He can’t take care of them all on his own. It’d be impossible to keep them.”

“You’ve really put him in a huge bind, Wonwoo,” says Jisoo, lips pressed into a thin line. “Your prank’s gone too far this time. I’m afraid we’ll have to call off this whole thing now that it’s gotten out of hand.”

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything, not even when Mingyu excuses himself for a call and Jisoo and Seungcheol leave him alone to contemplate his recklessness. Jeonghan’s just about to leave him too when Wonwoo finally speaks up, voice cracking and wavering just the slightest.

“You know I didn’t mean it as a prank, right?” He asks, sounding a little lost. “It’s just— he said he was lonely at home sometimes, but he didn’t wanna stay with me. Wasn’t that a sign?”

There are some things people do, stupidly, irrationally, when they want to keep someone and tie them down with them. Jeonghan knows that all too well. But he also knows what it’s like, to not see the forest for the trees— he swallows the lump in his throat and thinks about an e-ticket waiting for him in his inbox, unrevealed.

“I don’t know,” says Jeonghan, honestly. “Why don’t you ask him instead?”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer. Jeonghan doesn’t expect him to.

*

Still— Jeonghan thinks about it. He really, really does.

*

Jisoo sends out the official email full of regrets before the end of business hours, single-handedly fielding any and all complaints from everyone that’s bought _something_ for their recipient.

“It was my idea anyway,” says Jisoo, heaving a sigh. “I guess it’s kind of my fault this got out of hand.”

“It’s not your fault our co-workers are idiots, hyung,” says Minghao, kindly, as he waits for Jisoo to finish signing a couple of documents. Then, when he gets his paperwork back, he looks at Jeonghan with a tight, vaguely sympathetic smile and just pats his shoulder on his way out.

Jeonghan waits until Jisoo goes to the bathroom before he steals the ticket back, and then quietly holes himself up in the stock room with the portable shredder and watches it get torn to bits and pieces, indecipherable now. Then, he asks Seungkwan to delete the booking confirmation, call the airline to cancel the ticket with or without a refund, and forget this ever happened, right before he holes himself up inside Jihoon’s room to sulk on his couch.

“Does it have something to do with Jisoo-hyung’s email?” Seokmin asks, carefully, having been the unwitting victim of the team to check in on his moping.

“I’m thinking of using the money to buy a truckload of secondhand DVDs instead,” Jeonghan lies. “He’d like those better, right?”

“Right,” says Seokmin, sounding skeptical. He pats the top of Jeonghan’s head, gently this time. “I’m sure nothing screams I love you more than Naruto, hyung.”

*

There’s an awkward vibe around the office in the days that follow. Soonyoung and Wonwoo aren’t talking, looking at each other, much less staying in the same breathing space for an extended period of time outside of the meetings they definitely have to be involved in, and even then there’s always at least two people in between them. All of Jeonghan’s ill-advised shipments have arrived, the younger ones shamelessly helping themselves to the seemingly limitless supply of tea hidden under Jeonghan’s desk, but it’s practically an open secret who the intended recipient of Jeonghan’s splurging really is.

“You can put milk and pearls in it and make him think it’s milk tea,” says Seokmin. “It’s close enough, right?”

“It’s symbolic,” says Mingyu, sagely. “Pearls. Boba. Get it? Sucking it out of a straw—”

“I think you’ve been hanging around Jun-hyung too much.” Minghao covers his mouth with his palm. “Please stop before I stab you with this pair of scissors.”

“Keep the blood away from my confetti,” Seungkwan nags, having roped most of them into helping him recreate their kindergarten days playing with arts and crafts to make passable attempts at party decorations. With a critical sweep of his eye over the rest of the room, he announces. “You can stab him on the red cloth. I don’t think anyone will notice.”

Still, for all the jokes and innuendo, no one really wants to say it to Jeonghan’s face, but Jeonghan knows enough from their pitying eyes: the reality is, excessiveness and impulsiveness have rendered his efforts useless, and now he’s left with thoughtless, unnecessary gifts that benefit no one except inducing healthy bladder movement among the juniors and Jeonghan.

“You’ve been peeing way too much these days,” Jisoo observes, just as Jeonghan is hastily leaving his office and away from Jisoo.

“Bathroom,” Jeonghan hollers, pointing at his crotch. “I can’t stop it!”

“If I knew any better, I’d think you were avoiding me,” Jisoo jokes, but even he sounds unsure.

And, well, as much as Jeonghan wants to use work as an excuse, he’s not completely wrong, not when Jeonghan can spare time dicking around with making paper dicks instead of snowflakes out of Seungkwan’s precious crepe paper. It’s just Jeonghan being a sore loser at this point, and it’s not Jisoo’s fault.

It’s just pride, that’s all.

*

The year-end party technically falls on the second week, right before venues get fully booked and prices skyrocket with Christmas and New Year festivities. It’s far from being cheap, but it’s the best rate Seungkwan can find on short notice— never mind that they’re all technically camped out in a noraebang good for 20 people, _max_. “We’re gonna need the extra drinks,” says Seungcheol, somberly. “The department’s full of borderline alcoholics.”

“Says the person who gets so drunk he can’t be left alone all night,” Jeonghan scoffs, and Seungcheol cuffs his shoulder with his knuckles before wandering off to join in on Hansol and Chan egging Seokmin and Seungkwan on in an impromptu game of 3-6-9.

He looks around, content to listen to Jihoon belting his heart out in front of the mic with a Wheesung hit, flushed and sweaty despite knocking back only about two bottles of beer. Behind him, Junhui is supportively cheering him on with a tambourine in hand, looking far more enthusiastic than Soonyoung or Wonwoo— the two have a healthy foot of space between them, stacks of bags and coats flimsy excuses for their lack of interaction.

Jeonghan gives Junhui an inquiring look, but Junhui offers him a tight smile and shakes his head. Then, before he can get up and out of his seat to intervene, Jisoo takes a seat beside him armed with a slice of pizza and an opened bottle of beer.

“Not joining in on the fun?” Jisoo asks, already a bit unsteady from being taught how to do the sense game by the drunkards they call their coworkers.

“I’ve graduated from uni-level drinking games a long time ago,” says Jeonghan. He reaches out to push Jisoo’s bangs away from his forehead, carefully. “You’re a late bloomer, old man.”

“You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch, but I’m sure your heart can still grow three sizes today,” Jisoo sing-songs, and Jeonghan furrows his brow but smiles even if Jisoo’s words are completely lost on him. Jisoo contemplates the contents of his bottle for a minute, but then he seems to remember something and starts digging around his pockets. “Here! Merry Christmas!”

He hands Jeonghan a small envelope, large enough for what Jeonghan guesses are tickets. “What—”

“I was gonna give them to you for Christmas, but I figured you’d wanna go there with your sister or your mom instead,” says Jisoo, just as Jeonghan opens the envelope to unearth a pass to Everland. “They like amusement parks, right? You should go with them on your day off.”

“Jisoo, I—” He licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry. “I can’t accept this. I didn’t get you anything.”

“Consider it my gift to your poor mother for stealing her only son away last year,” says Jisoo, waving him off. He smoothens his clothes down, then rises up from his seat. “Lucky you, I got the tickets before Secret Santa got cancelled.”

“Lucky me indeed,” says Jeonghan, dumbly. Jisoo winks at him and leaves him with his untouched drink, but not before messing up his hair with his touchy hands.

He watches Jisoo get pulled into 3-6-9 by Seungkwan and the rest, thumb absent-mindedly stroking the Everland passes. He touches the rim of the bottle to his lips but doesn’t take a sip.

Already, the regret comes, cloaking him like a familiar coat. It’s cowardice that’s stopped him from asking a question on the tip of his tongue. He thinks of bright lights. Cold fingers, warmed slowly in clasped hands. Longing, again and again, to close the distance with more than a hug,

But that’s just impossible. Christmas just doesn’t mean the same thing to Jisoo as it does to him, that’s all.

*

“You know, you’re not the only dumbass when it comes to love,” says Minghao, suddenly occupying the seat Jisoo’s vacated. Jeonghan frowns at him, not in the mood for company at all, but Minghao takes his sweet time, picking out appetizers in front of him and chewing slowly, methodically. “Did you know he’s been holding onto those passes for a while now?”

“What?”

“I’m saying, he didn’t get those tickets just because he needed to give you an obligation gift,” says Minghao, unblinking. “Just like you didn’t need to give him a ticket to go home.”

“Well, I didn’t end up giving it to him, did I?” Jeonghan muses, the admission tasting bitter on his tongue.

Minghao rolls his eyes, then opens his phone. For a moment, Jeonghan almost thinks he’s planning on quietly Instagram-ing everything he can for blackmail purposes and posterity (but mostly blackmail), but instead Minghao opens a different app. Jeonghan squints down at Minghao’s AirDrop, then— to his horror— a PDF of Jisoo’s supposedly cancelled flight details, waiting to be released into the void.

“Before you freak out on Seungkwan, I threatened him with spam newsletter sign-ups and chain mail if he contacted the airline,” says Minghao, calmly, as he watches Jeonghan’s expression twich into fury. “Also, those were _my_ points, so you don’t get to be mad.”

“I’m gonna make your life a living hell if you send that, Minghao,” Jeonghan promises. “I’m gonna give you all the new pitches, then I’m gonna talk to Seungcheol to give you even more projects, and I’ll bug the IT guys to switch your laptop to a shittier desktop running on an ancient OS. I’ll cut off all your phone lines, reroute your emails, and configure your printouts to show nothing but Wingdings. And _then_ you’ll be begging me to print your resignation letter with your blood by January if you send that out, so help me god.”

“ _Please_ , if I can handle Soonyoung-hyung’s moodiness, I can handle you,” says Minghao, breezily. “I’m a better project manager than all of you combined, and I don’t even need this job for the money.” He playfully swipes at his screen, showing teeth. “Merry Christmas, hyung. I’m your Secret Santa, not Jisoo-hyung.”

Before Jeonghan can lunge at him, Minghao’s thumb presses the send button, and Jeonghan lets out a ferocious yell before tackling him to the ground. Everyone looks at them, alarmed at the image of Jeonghan strangling Minghao while getting elbowed in the jugular, and it takes them half a beat slower than usual to finally crowd around and attempt to pull them away.

“What are you _doing_?” Seungcheol yells, peeling Jeonghan off of Minghao.

“Saving his love life,” Minghao wheezes.

“Ruining my _life_ ,” Jeonghan howls.

“Jeonghan, what—“ Brows furrowed, Jisoo starts to reach out to touch his shoulder, only to be stopped by a _ping_ coming from his phone. He looks at his screen, then at Minghao and Jeonghan.

“I can explain,” Jeonghan starts, but the words die in his throat at Jisoo’s perplexed expression.

Jisoo’s always had bright eyes. Even in the bad lighting of the noraebang room, they’re so easy to sink into. it’s hard to look away despite the shame.

“What is this?” Jisoo asks, at a loss for words. “Why are you giving me a flight itinerary? Minghao, I’m not—” He looks down, then trails off. “ _Oh_.”

Jisoo looks at Minghao, who just points at Jeonghan. Jeonghan just looks at him helplessly, unable to answer the confusion coloring Jisoo’s features.

“I think,” says Seungcheol, slowly, “we should give these two some privacy.”

“Screw that,” Seungkwan balks. “I’ve got this room reserved until midnight. They can go outside!”

*

Privacy means getting kicked out of the noraebang to talk in the freezing cold, right outside the emergency exit. ‘Talk’ is a generous term— Jeonghan’s tongue feels like lead in his mouth, long since useless, as heavy as the ticket weighing down his pocket, loaded with even more questions.

Jisoo blinks at him owlishly, barely a foot of space between them. It’s started to snow tonight, and flecks of it keep peppering his nose. His cheeks. His hair, tousled by the wind and the commotion. Jeonghan wants to touch him so bad, his fingers twitch at his sides, restless. He keeps them still, hidden in his pockets.

“So,” says Jisoo, breaking the silence. “Minghao says you got me a ticket back to LA.”

Jeonghan bites back the urge to lie, then chooses a different way out, equally childish. “You got me tickets to Everland.”

“I did,” Jisoo admits. 

“And you’re not my Secret Santa.”

Jisoo’s lips twitch. “I’m not.”

“Did you really want me to go with my family?”

“No.” Jisoo takes a deep, shaky exhale, then plasters on a small smile. “I was gonna ask if you were doing anything this Christmas.”

Jisoo’s smile is so soft, muted and lovely. Jeonghan can’t stop himself from reaching up to brush a powder of snow resting on the curve of his cheek, right above the barest hint of a dimple, and when his thumb strokes Jisoo’s skin, Jisoo’s eyelids flutter, open and close, open and close.

“Jisoo—” He says, voice unsteady. “What does that mean?”

Jisoo purses his lips, looking for all the world like a stubborn child. Not perfect, not completely put-together, but Jeonghan’s heart aches with so much fondness he just wants to spoil him and kiss the pout away until it’s gone.

“I meant what I said about being with the person I like the most,” he says, stubbornly. Firmly. And underneath the hard-headedness, there’s hesitation there. The fear. He looks up at Jeonghan, suddenly shy, and steps closer, bit by bit. “Just like last year.”

“How long now?” Jeonghan asks, softly.

Jisoo’s eyes disappear into crescents from the force of his smile. “A while now.” He touches Jeonghan’s chest, lets his palms rest against the front of his coat buttons. “Jeonghan, if you aren’t— if you don’t feel the same—”

“I do,” says Jeonghan, quickly. Stutters it, even, absent of finesse now, and Jisoo’s ears turn pink, as flushed as his cheeks. “God, I always do.”

His arm curls around Jisoo’s waist, tugging him close; their shadows slide into each other as easily as their lips slot together, chaste and easy. Once. Twice. The first of many.

It’s cold and dark out, but Jisoo’s mouth— it’s warm.

*

“You were right,” Jisoo tells him, later, when they’re holding hands on the walk back to the train station. “Looks like you really _are_ my Christmas present this year.”

“You’re gonna be thousands of miles away, though,” Jeonghan whines. “More than half a day, even.”

“Who decided on the flight dates again?” Jisoo teases. He laughs at Jeonghan’s unconvinced pout, open and easy. “We can go to Everland when I come back. I can just look for extra tickets.”

“I’ll mope around the office while you’re gone.”

“There’s always Facetime and KKT, Han.”

“How forward,” says Jeonghan, drily. “I don’t believe in sexting until after three dates.”

“We’ve been on hundred of dates,” says Jisoo. “We go out for dinner every day.”

“No wonder we’re dating now,” says Jeonghan. “It’s practically Stockholm Syndrome.”

Any other day, Jisoo would have elbowed him in the side or punched his shoulder and Jeonghan would have dodged. Now, the best part about dating is that Jisoo can be less cruel when he attacks him— he shuts him up with a kiss instead.

“Blech,” comes Chan’s jeering from a few feet behind. “We’re still here!”

“Don’t be jealous, Chan,” says Jeonghan, loftily. “You’ll fall in love with someone who isn’t 2D soon. Or not, considering Cheol still loves looking for Overwatch porn.”

“D.Va _is_ very sexy,” Jisoo agrees.

“Don’t make me take back your damn vacation leave!” Seungcheol threatens.

“But sex is a healthy part of growing up,” Jisoo protests. “You shouldn’t be so repressed!”

“You two _clearly_ deserve each other,” Seungcheol scoffs. “You’re both assholes.”

“You should have taken your car with us, hyung,” Seungkwan tells Seungcheol, then turns to Minghao with an accusing glare. “This is all your fault.”

Minghao shrugs. “You booked the tickets. You’re not innocent either, Boo Seungkwan.”

“You conniving little bastards should put your heads together and work on fixing another problem, you know,” says Seungcheol, meaningfully inclining his head towards where Soonyoung and Wonwoo are walking far behind with Junhui and Jihoon sandwiched between them, the unfortunate souls. “I don’t wanna have to organize a teambuilding session just to resolve _that_.”

“They’ll figure it out,” says Minghao, shrugging. “If Jeonghan-hyung and Jisoo-hyung can get their heads out of their asses, why can’t they?”

 _That_ soon devolves into a different argument, but Jeonghan finds that he doesn’t really feel the burn as much, not anymore. Bringing Jisoo’s knuckles up to his lips and listening to his sharp inhale, he thinks— all the longing and uncertainty, they’re so insignificant now. No, they don’t mean anything at all, not anymore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now that Christmas is over and done, Jeonghan’s looking forward to seeing Jisoo again after his birthday and New Year’s. He’s taking a mid-morning flight out on the 1st, and they’ll have a couple of days to themselves before they have to come in for work. Jeonghan’s looking forward to all the duty-free chocolates and souvenirs Jisoo’s planning on smuggling inside his check-in luggage. Oh, and the sex. Definitely the sex. It’s been a long time coming, in all senses of the word.

In the meantime, nothing much has happened in the office— unless, of course, he counts Soonyoung and Wonwoo _finally_ making up after an intervention staged by the younger ones. (He’s been told it had involved a locked hotel room and lots of ‘supplies’ to tide them over, but Jeonghan refuses to listen to anything about anyone’s steamy sex life, not when he’s temporarily suffering in long distance hell. It’s _torture_.)

They’re still giving the cats up for adoption, even if they’ve _finally_ reached a compromise that involves Wonwoo moving in with Soonyoung instead and co-parenting the lone runt of the litter that they’re keeping. Jisoo’s been Facetime-ing Soonyoung on his downtime, too, taking away some of Jeonghan’s much-needed quality time, but only because he’s been brainwashed by the cat pictures Wonwoo keeps sending him over at KKT. The cat in question is one that doesn’t particularly like Jeonghan, and the feeling’s perfectly mutual— it’s Satan’s demon spawn hell-bent on clawing its way through Jeonghan’s office, but Jisoo _adores_ it. Balefully, Jeonghan sinks into his seat and glares at Jisoo’s cooing face plastered all over his laptop screen, the camera aimed at the kitten waving its paws in the air on Jeonghan’s carpeted floor as Chan plays with its belly. Okay, so maybe it is cute. Whatever. Jisoo’s cuter.

The only reason the cat’s even in the office is because Soonyoung and Wonwoo have been giving away its siblings to the rest of their teammates, wreaking havoc on productivity. “She needs to acclimate to you too, hyung,” Wonwoo had said, stroking the back of its furry head. “If Jisoo-hyung’s gonna adopt her, she’ll need to get used to you too.”

“If you didn’t give her to Soonyoung, we wouldn’t be in this predicament now, would we?”

“Being a pet owner is a very fulfilling responsibility,” said Wonwoo, ignoring him. “You can think of her as your baby, if you want.”

“A demonic baby. Just perfect.”

Wonwoo just rolled his eyes and left him with a feather toy and treats, and the constant woeful meowing attracted people in droves to Jeonghan’s office. At least, until Soonyoung had shown up and decided that Jeonghan was _clearly_ the best person to seek life advice from, whittling the count of cat devotees down to the bare minimum. If Junhui hadn’t had a meeting, he probably would have stayed, though, especially considering that Soonyoung’s little predicament involves an _anniversary_ gift, apparently.

“What anniversary?” Chan asks, bewildered. “You were only fuck buddies!”

Soonyoung ignores him. “I want the gift to scream ‘raw me’, but only after lots of cuddling and making out,” says Soonyoung, seriously. “I don’t wanna make it look like I’m _easy_.”

“You were literally sleeping with each other—”

“Any ideas, Seungkwannie?” Soonyoung asks, turning his swivel chair to block Chan's face.

“Oh wait,” says Seungkwan, looking like he deeply regrets being part of this conversation. “I think I hear Seokmin calling for me.”

“I’m right here and I’m not?” Seokmin calls from the next cubicle over, but Seungkwan’s already out of Jeonghan’s workspace and leaving Chan, Minghao and Jeonghan to the tragedy called his attempts at foreplay with Wonwoo— if it could even be called that. Jeonghan hasn’t seen as much unnecessary bickering from two (semi) functioning working adults. This is why no one sends out notice of meetings with those two involved anymore.

“Why don’t you just get him a bottle of lube and call it quits?” Minghao asks, not even looking up from his Pivot tables. It’s a gift Jeonghan’s envies him for, tuning out Soonyoung’s unfiltered word vomit. Then again, maybe this is why he’s the only one that hasn’t switched workspaces after claims of feeling harassed after prolonged exposure to Soonyoung. “Being subtle isn’t your strong point, after all.”

Soonyoung makes a face, throwing a crumpled up post-it at Minghao’s head. It misses and bounces off of Jeonghan’s nose instead. “Rejected,” says Soonyoung, looking vaguely sheepish at Jeonghan’s nose scrunching up. “That idea’s as terrible as me buying a box of condoms and staying in bed naked with a bow wrapped around my dick.”

“That would probably be more effective than you think it is,” Minghao mutters, but he remains woefully ignored. 

“I think you should talk to Junhui about things like this,” says Jeonghan. “He has a _lot_ of ideas in that head of his.”

“Jun-hyung’s a pervert,” Minghao points out.

“Exactly,” says Jeonghan.

“ _I_ think Wonwoo will be happy with whatever you give him, Soonyoungie,” Jisoo pipes up from the laptop, sounding innocent enough. “Especially if you give him yourself as a gift.”

Jeonghan chokes, a mouthful of tea going down the wrong pipe. Flashes of Jisoo spending the weekend before his flight over at Jeonghan’s in what proved to be the marathon sex romp of Jeonghan’s fantasies pollute his brain, making him cross his legs uncomfortably.

“Can’t you just make him dinner and call it a night?” Jeonghan asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Jisoo, on the screen, looks far too smug for his own liking despite Jeonghan’s near-death experience. (Sort of. He's gonna milk this for all its worth.) Everyone else in the room just looks disgusted or indifferent. Jeonghan definitely feels the love.

“He wants Wonwoo-hyung to have a good time, not send him to the ER,” Chan deadpans.

Jeonghan drowns out the ensuing squabbling, tugging his laptop close and moving to a different room instead. “Whatever happened to not letting your ideas get out of hand again?”

“It’s not a bad thing,” says Jisoo. “Wonwoo will thank me later.”

“He’s already single-handedly responsible for your descent into cat owner hell. If anything, he should be thanking _me_ for not killing him.”

“The cat will grow on you, just like I did,” says Jisoo, chuckling. “It’s not hard to love.”

Jeonghan’s thumb strokes the screen, right at the curve of his smile, and thinks that Jisoo wasn’t hard to love at all, either. “You should come home faster, just to make sure she doesn’t suffocate me in my sleep.”

“Just as planned,” says Jisoo, drily.

“Yah!” says Jeonghan, unable to help the sharp bark of laughter from escaping his lips. “And you call _me_ manipulative.”

“I learned from the best,” says Jisoo. “Now get back to work, Jeonghan-sshi.”

Jeonghan heaves a sigh, but his answering grin is fond. “Whatever you say, your majesty.”

**Author's Note:**

> *the company policy line was borrowed lovingly and with permission to the wonderful genius @roommate / G, who wrote one of my favorite office AUs ♥ thank you for letting me play with it~
> 
> thank you, again, to @soonuwus for the prompts! I've never tried writing this ship before but it's one of my guilty pleasures. I hope I didn't butcher them. much. :D
> 
> many, many thanks as well to the perennially suffering gc of procrastinators for the handholding and commiseration-- MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE!!! HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!
> 
> p.s. title taken from kelly clarkson's underneath the tree, though in this case the tree doesn't exist ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿


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